Daredevil & Angel: The Silver Age
by randallpierce
Summary: New York City, 1963. The Man Without Fear and the Avenging Angel are just starting out. But a Space Age threat has become obsessed with them, and he's determined to end their careers before they even begin. Meanwhile, a mysterious secret agent is pursuing a new identity. A "three-issue" mini-series.
1. Issue 1, Prologue

It was an incredible dream...but it wasn't enough.

Paul Battaglia reached into a dark room, felt around for a light-switch, and eventually found one. A huge bank of lights kicked on, making a muffled banging noise. The room was larger than most houses. Paul's employers called it a "research and development center," but it was actually a glorified showroom, which was reserved for visiting politicians and generals. He'd never been inside. Paul was leaving, and this was his last chance to see it.

It looked like ground zero for the Space Race. The walls were covered with blown-up color pictures of rockets and space probes, and the room was full of displays, most of which were up on platforms. Paul took a little tour. He saw imaginative concept art for "moon buggies" and "space planes," and there were sprawling scale models of lunar military outposts and lunar colonies. They reminded him of those really elaborate train sets. The colonies were domed cities, which contained parks, office buildings, and monorail trains. He knelt down, inspecting the models more closely. It would probably take decades to build all of this, but the little plastic people were still dressed like it was 1963...actually, no, more like the late fifties. The men wore increasingly-outdated fedoras, and there was a curious lack of hippies.

Paul walked past a life-sized model of a space probe. He came across a projected timeline that was printed on a big white board, and he stopped to read it. They wanted to land on the moon by 1970, establish fully-functional military outposts by 1980, and have the first civilian colony built by 1990. Beyond that, he saw prototype spacesuits on blank-faced mannequins. They were silver and black. The silver parts had a metallic sheen to them, but they were fabric, just like the black parts. Some sort of Space Age material. He touched one of the suits-the material was like nothing he'd ever felt. Each mannequin held a silver helmet (which had a thin black visor) in the crook of its arm. It wasn't as big and bulky as the regular astronaut helmets he'd seen, and the suit was similarly streamlined.

Wanting a closer look, Paul unzipped the suit, taking it off of the mannequin. There was something hard and segmented inside the suit. When he'd first touched it, he'd felt something solid underneath, but he'd naturally assumed that it was the mannequin. As it turned out, the interior of the suit was lined with a weird kind of padding. Thin "plates" of padding were connected to each other, and they were surprisingly flexible, and contoured to fit a man's body. He didn't know what the plates were made of, but they definitely weren't metal. Every inch of the astronaut would be protected. Paul smiled, and he went looking for the mannequin that was closest to his size, pulling its spacesuit off. Given what he was about to do, a suit like that would come in handy.

The facility was underneath an observatory in upstate New York. It was primarily staffed by scientists, military guards, and government liaisons. Paul was none of those things. He was also the only person that lived there: he stayed in the _real_ research and development area, where they ran tests on him all day long. Paul wasn't supposed to be in this part of the base. But, at this time of night, only the guards were around, and he'd already taken care of them.

Paul had black hair and dark eyes, and he was barely old enough to vote. Girls his age probably would have loved him-he had a tragic, mysterious look to him-but he'd quickly learned that they _weren't_ any girls his age in places like this. He'd lived on-base for the last five years. When he was thirteen, his medical problems had started, and they'd nearly bankrupted his family. The doctors in Chicago had sent him to specialists in New York. They eventually figured out what he was, which resulted in his mother killing herself, and his dad abandoning him. Military scientists became interested in his case. They told him that they'd help him, as long as he was willing to "serve his country" in return. Paul's dad signed some papers and officially transferred his parental rights. Given how young he'd been, Paul didn't think it was legal for the military to do something like that, but nobody seemed to care.

His abilities made him valuable. America was trying to beat Russia to the moon, and he was playing a part in that. That was why they hadn't just thrown him in a hole somewhere. The scientists treated him surprisingly well, but the guards and other military types were always giving him suspicious looks. They knew what he was, and they didn't like him, let alone trust him. But Paul wasn't the only questionable person that was working for them. There were old men with German accents, and everybody knew who they were.

Paul changed into the astronaut suit (putting on everything but the helmet). He left his clothes on the floor; he wasn't bringing anything with him. There were some books that he'd miss, but he didn't need them, anymore. They all had to do with the concept of the afterlife. Serious books, not feel-good kiddie stuff. When you're thirteen, and you think you're gonna die, you start wondering about what's next. One of his doctors back in Chicago had respected his intelligence enough to give him a bunch of books on the subject. Paul had been bedridden for months, and he'd needed a way to pass the time. He'd been raised Catholic, but the books covered all of the Christian denominations, and there were even books about other religions and mythologies, as well. It was interesting, seeing all of these different ideas about peace and perfection. Paul didn't believe in any one specific religion, not anymore, but he'd come up with a few theories.

He took one last look at the showroom. Once Reed Richards had stopped working for the government, they'd told Paul that, from now on, _he_ was the secret cornerstone of the space program. It had actually been fun. The tests weren't painful, and he loved all this astronaut stuff. But it wasn't enough for him, anymore, and he was ready to try something else.

"...Paul? What are you doing in here?"

It was Dr. Berg, one of the most important scientists that worked there. Dr. Berg was old-he had to be in his thirties-and he had brown hair and a matching beard. He just wore slacks and a button-down shirt, his white lab coat was nowhere to be seen. Dr. Berg had probably been getting ready to go home for the night. Paul had been sure that he'd had the place all to himself, but...

"You can't play in here, Paul," Dr. Berg said, clearly exasperated. "I know you hate being cooped up all the time, but this place is off-limits."

"I'm not playing."

Paul had just been stating a fact, but his voice must have sounded scary, because Dr. Berg's eyes widened.

"I...I get it, Paul. With everything that's going on down in the city, you probably want to put on a costume, too." Dr. Berg glanced around. "And you're a man, now. Of course you want some independence. But we talked about this: we have to keep you secret, so the Russians can't hurt you."

Paul didn't say anything.

"I promise you, it won't always be like this. Once we're established on the moon, we'll be able to tell people about you, and what you are. I mean, compared to colonies on the moon-"

"-compared to colonies on the moon, me being a mutant will seem normal," Paul said, finishing the sentence for him. He'd heard this speech before. Paul crossed his arms, and his voice was dripping with sarcasm. "They'll find out that I helped put America on the moon, and they'll love me, and I'll be a hero. Yeah...even if that happens, it won't solve anything."

Dr. Berg once again looked around the room.

"If you're waiting for the guards, they aren't coming."

"Oh my god."

"Relax, I didn't kill them. There's only one person that I'm gonna kill."

Dr. Berg started to turn around and run, but Paul's hand glowed silver, which stopped him in his tracks.

"Don't. Come on, you know I'm not talking about you."

The older man finally figured out what was going on. "Wait, this is about your hallu-your _memories_?"

Paul sighed. "I'm done explaining this," he said. "I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but, I'm leaving. Tell them something for me, okay? Tell them they don't want to try to bring me back in. If they do, they'll regret it."

"We're only beginning to understand how gravity affects the human brain. And all those books you read, when you were at your most hopeless p-"

" _I'M NOT CRAZY!_ "

Dr. Berg took a step back.

Paul winced; that was exactly the kind of thing that crazy people said. Or, in this case, shouted. "Look, I'm sorry about that."

"We know about all of the heroes and monsters down in the city," Dr. Berg said, his voice flat and distant. "These people you think you remember, nobody's ever heard of them. Even the intelligence types that really pay attention to that stuff."

Paul shook his head, trying to stay calm. "I remember reading about them in the papers, and I remember taking a day trip to the city and seeing them in-person, too. Light and dark. A guy in a yellow suit and a blue cape, and this thing that was like walking darkness. Yeah, okay, nobody else remembers. I don't know why I'm the only one. But there _is_ a dark guy, and now there's a light one, too."

Dr. Berg clearly had no idea what he was talking about.

"There's a devil running around in Hell's Kitchen...and this angel just showed up in another part of the city. Darkness and light, just like what I saw. I don't know how I remembered them before they showed up, or why they're different than they were in my head, but I know what I need to do."

Dr. Berg started to say something, but Paul blasted him. A plate-sized ring of silver energy shot out from his hand. It hit Dr. Berg right in the chest, and he slammed against the floor.

Paul made sure that Dr. Berg was alive and otherwise unhurt. Then, he put the helmet on and walked away. They'd told him that he had the mutant power to generate "gravity rings." Paul no longer thought of them as rings, though: ever since he'd heard about the Devil in Hell's Kitchen, they'd reminded him of halos.


	2. Issue 1, Chapter 1

**Daredevil & Angel: The Silver Age **

**Issue #1**

" **Signs"**

It was amateur night. A ragtag group of thieves was getting ready to "hijack" a truckload of furs, in the sense that they were standing around, smoking, and listening to their boss haggle with the driver. Their boss wanted the robbery to look convincing; the driver was afraid that it would look _too_ convincing. Daredevil listened from a rooftop that was downwind of them, and he "watched," in his way.

They were in an alley that was plastered with garbage. The truck was parked just off of it, and they'd had the common sense to kill the engine, so they wouldn't wake up any witnesses. This part of Hell's Kitchen was dead-quiet, tonight. That was good for both sides. No looky-loos for the hijackers to worry about, and no innocent bystanders for Daredevil to worry about.

All of the usual suspects were there-they were easy to identify. Steve the Slovak had a uniquely-round shape to him, and he smelled like an obscure, distinctive brand of cigarettes. Joey Buttons had a click in his left knee (which Daredevil had given him) and clothing that always reeked of mothballs. Irish Joe tended to put way too much polish on his shoes, and he whistled through a gap in his teeth (another gift from Daredevil). The tall, skinny Polish Joe used a hair-cream that, according to his radar-sense, practically turned his hair solid. "Billy" Kidd was the high-strung type, and he had the racing pulse to match, along with the odor that came from working in a meat-packing plant. And Donnie, their boss? He was always sweating, he had a nasal voice, and he was covered with hairs from his wife's tiny little dogs.

To Daredevil, Polish Joe was just another goon. But Matt Murdock had stood up for him in court. He wasn't a career criminal...he was too young to be a career _anything_. Polish Joe had done some petty stuff, but a pair of crooked cops had leaned on him, and he'd made a deal with Internal Affairs, turning evidence in exchange for leniency. The guy had gotten married when he was still in high school; he had a wife and two little kids at home. Matt Murdock had worked hard to get him a second chance. If a good person got desperate, they could turn into a reluctant criminal-someone that was just trying to keep their family fed-but Polish Joe was joking around and having a good time. Daredevil clenched his fists, seething.

He was wearing the second version of his suit. The first one had been low-key, consisting of a black bandana-style mask and black streetclothes. But he'd looked too much like a common burglar. More and more heroes were popping up in New York, and he wanted to make it clear that he was on their side, so he'd decided that he needed to seem a little more "super." His new suit was a pale, ghostly yellow. The torso section was black (as were his gloves and boots). His billy club, the big "D" on his chest, and his mask's lenses were all red. Judging by his enemies' usual reactions, he must have looked terrifying in the moonlight. The yellow was an inside joke: when he was a kid, he'd tried to walk away from fights, though he hadn't always succeeded. The other kids had called him yellow.

"A few bruises is one thing," the driver was saying, his heart-rate starting to increase, "but anything more than that, I want another fifty." The driver was out-of-shape and in extremely poor health. If it turned into a real robbery, the stress alone would seriously mess him up, and a few good punches could kill him.

"This isn't just about tonight," Donnie said. "You're our inside man, and we've gotta protect that, right? If they figure it out, that means no more scores. Forget the fifty. If we make this look good, there'll be plenty more in the future."

"You've gotta protect me...by hitting me more?"

"It's just your turn, that's all. We've hit some rigs before you, and we'll hit more rigs after you-but if you're the only driver we don't rough up, it won't look right. See what I'm saying?"

The driver started shaking his head, but Donnie ignored him, waving the others over. Daredevil didn't think that the guy would survive a serious beating. The old guy probably looked tough enough to take it-Donnie sure seemed to think that he was-but Daredevil knew otherwise.

 _Time to step in._

Daredevil had been holding a loose chunk of brick, and he threw it at the nearest streetlight, hitting it dead-on. The light shattered and went out. He heard the men shout and curse, but only half of them drew guns; it was supposed to be a friendly handover-type job, and some of them hadn't thought to bring weapons.

He fired his billy club's grappling cord-it was a wire with a metal stud on the end, and he'd gotten to where he could wrap the cord around just about anything with a mere flick of his wrist. Daredevil swung down into the alley, kicking Joey Buttons right in his shoulder blades. Joey ate dirt and lost his gun. Daredevil jerked his hand, loosened the grappling cord, and let it retract. Several of them were screaming and firing blind. He flipped into the air, and he simultaneously threw his billy club, letting it ricochet around the alley. It hit Irish Joe in the head, disarmed Donnie, made a noise that drew Steve the Slovak's fire, and startled Polish Joe so badly that he tripped over a rotted-out old crate. Seven ricochets: a new personal best.

While his billy club was bouncing around, Daredevil took advantage of the chaos. When he attacked "Billy" Kidd, he planted his feet like a boxer, battering him with straightforward lefts and rights. His father would have been (sort of) proud. But, when the newly-disarmed Donnie charged at him, he switched to what Stick had taught him. A kick caught Donnie in the side of the head, and a vicious open-handed thrust hit him in the face and sent him crashing into a wall. Then, Steve the Slovak regained his bearings and came after him, shooting the whole time. Daredevil leapt like an acrobat, doing a split-second handstand on Steve's head. He landed behind Steve, kicked him behind one knee, and threw/flipped him into the nearest garbage container. Steve's gun went flying, and his head banged on the container's metal edge.

Daredevil caught his billy club. The driver had tried to run off (and collapsed), and Kidd, Irish Joe, and Polish Joe were coming at him.

Irish Joe got there first. He swung, and Daredevil ducked and slugged him right in the gut. Irish Joe was the heaviest smoker of the bunch...it knocked the wind out of him and left him gasping for breath. Daredevil shoved Irish Joe into Polish Joe, who wasn't exactly an experienced fighter. Kidd pulled out a switchblade, but Daredevil blocked it with his billy club, kneeing Kidd in the groin. That was the bad thing about switchblades, you had to get close. Kidd hunched over, vomiting, and Daredevil elbowed him in the back of the head. Irish Joe and Polish Joe were still trying to get untangled from each other. Joey Buttons hadn't managed to get back up, but he was crawling toward him, and getting ready to lunge for his legs. Daredevil casually kicked him in the face.

Polish Joe went after a gun that was on the ground, but he only managed to kick it away, and he cursed. When he saw Daredevil, he put his dukes up. But he was watching his upper body, and not his lower body; Daredevil stomped on his foot, and Polish Joe went down, clutching it. He'd heard something break, which would hopefully keep him out of trouble for a while. Irish Joe had straightened back up-he'd found a crowbar. He was coughing, and angry, and his first (and only) swing was too hard. Daredevil sidestepped it, and Irish Joe threw off his own balance. He clubbed Irish Joe in the head.

Donnie was staggering around, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth. He shouted various Asian slurs. Daredevil was a martial artist who dressed in a yellow devil suit...yeah, he was surprised he didn't get more of that, actually. When Daredevil advanced on him, Donnie crossed himself. An uppercut put him down.

Daredevil rounded up the guns, piling them away from the others. Everyone was either unconscious or too injured to escape.

Sirens were approaching, so he needed to get out of there...but, before he left, he checked on the driver. The man was alive, but not in good shape. He'd almost had a heart attack.

When the driver saw him, he gasped and tried to drag himself to safety. "Stuh...stay away..."

"It's over," Daredevil said, his voice a low growl. "I want you to tell the police everything."

"Don't-oh, god-don't hurt me."

Daredevil had never liked the shadier type of truck drivers, given the incident that had blinded him. But he only attacked people if they were a threat. "Calm down, old man."

"I can help you...I've got information...information about _your_ kind of people..."

Daredevil grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, sitting him up. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw somebody _flying_ , the other day. Swear to god. Right here, in Hell's Kitchen."

There were only a few people in the city that could do that-and none of them spent time in the Kitchen. "What, Iron Man? Thor? Or the guy with wings, the one that Spider-Man fought?"

"No, none of them, I swear. Somebody new."

Donnie's crew had smelled like booze and reefer, but this man was sober. He wasn't in great shape, right now, but he seemed coherent enough. And his heartbeat said that he wasn't lying. He _believed_ he'd seen something, at least.

"You've got a new freak runnin' around your neighborhood," the driver said, gasping. "Better keep your eyes open."


	3. Issue 1, Chapter 2

It was only his third time, and he was still trying to get his name out there.

On his first night, he'd saved a window-washer, catching him after he fell off of his platform. He'd told the man his name-his codename, anyway-but nothing about the incident made the papers. Maybe he hadn't told the authorities, or maybe they hadn't believed him. On his second night, he'd broken up a mugging, but the victim ran away. He'd traded blows with the mugger, and it was the first real fight he'd ever been in. It hadn't gone well. The mugger had hit him a few times, but he'd eventually lashed out with one of his wings, knocking the man flat on his back. He'd told the mugger who he was, and then gassed him and left him for the police. Again, nothing about it made the papers, and he wasn't sure if the mugger had kept silent, or if the gas had made him forget. He later realized that he shouldn't have just left him there. For all the police knew, the mugger was just a random guy who'd fallen asleep on the street.

His presence was a little noticeable, so there'd been some reports of a winged man flying over the city, but there was nothing about him being a superhero. It was driving him crazy. The Avenging Angel was guarding Manhattan, and no one even knew it.

Warren Worthington III watched the sun rise. He was flying between skyscrapers, diving and banking. Warren should have been freezing-it had to be in the low thirties, and it was really windy, up there-but he wasn't cold at all. He chalked it up as another weird side-effect. His vision had become impossibly good, he could breathe just fine in thin air, and the act of flying seemed to work his entire body, making him stronger every day.

He flew a few laps around the Daily Bugle building, and then he practiced making some loops. Vertigo seemed to be a thing of the past. When it was this early in the morning, New York was uncharacteristically quiet, and the city seemed almost serene. Warren could see the daylight oozing across Manhattan. He climbed higher in the air, testing himself, and then he veered toward a residential neighborhood. Warren felt like making someone's breakfast a little more interesting. He raced past a towering apartment building, and while most of the windows were covered, a gorgeous brunette had her drapes open. She was just getting out of the shower, and she nearly dropped her towel when she saw him zip by. His vision was out of this world...he could literally see her pores.

The flying made it all worth it. In the past year, Warren (no, _Angel_ , he needed to get used to thinking of himself that way) had dealt with a ton of confusion, fear, and physical pain. But if this was the end-result, he could live with it.

Angel perched atop a skyscraper that was just a few blocks away from the Baxter Building. Both the sun and the moon were in the sky, and that had always felt a little surreal, to him. He touched his hips, making sure that he hadn't lost his weapons while he was goofing around. They were still there. His suit and gear...yeah, it was piecemeal. He'd stolen his suit from a costume shop (he'd left a fifty on the counter, which was far more than it was worth). It was red and black, and, for some reason, it had these ridiculous yellow briefs. He'd thought about trying to tear them off, but he was afraid he'd ruin the suit. It didn't have much of a mask, either-the thing didn't even cover his hair. He'd have to be on the lookout for a better mask. Angel had glued a yellow halo decal onto the suit, and he was always afraid that the stupid thing would fall off.

His guns were also stolen, but he'd eventually be inheriting the family company, so he figured that it was okay. With all of the social unrest that was out there, the government had asked Worthington Industries to design some anti-riot weapons. His father had initially balked-they were a respectable, altruistic old-money family, not new-money profiteers like that Stark upstart. But Worthington Industries had other government contracts, as well, and there were hints that they'd lose them if they didn't go along. His father had ordered his scientists to create non-lethal weapons only. They'd designed ammo that was the size and shape of ping-pong balls, and the weapons that fired them vaguely resembled flare guns. One type of ammo was heavy, dense rubber, which would knock down just about anyone. They left serious bruises. The other type was hollow and fragile, and each ball was filled with knockout gas.

Two dozen police departments across the country were trying out these new weapons. So, if a certain New York superhero also had them, people would probably assume that the police had misplaced a pair. Warren had had a summer job at his family's company, and he _might_ have made a few minor changes to some paperwork. He'd taken four guns, but he only carried two at a time, one for each type of ammo. And he had a lot of ammo hidden away. The guns were compact, so they were easy to carry, but the downside was that they only held five shots each, including the one in the chamber. Still, between the two of them, that was ten shots. With the guns and his wings, he felt reasonably confident.

Angel had told himself to be ready for anything. Gangs, bank robberies, mobsters. Instead, he found himself dealing with a much more embarrassing problem: he was struggling to find any crime.

His vision was great, and he could cover a lot of ground in a short amount of time, but he didn't actually know anything about criminals. He'd never studied criminology, and his upbringing had been extremely sheltered. So, for the most part, he just flew around and looked for anything that seemed suspicious. In his first three nights, he'd stopped exactly one crime. Was most of the crime happening indoors? Also, was that question as stupid as it sounded in his head?

The good news was that he was starting to figure out city's nighttime routines. The bars and clubs closed at certain times, so he'd watch from a rooftop, making sure that nothing happened to the people coming out of them. Angel learned when armored cars picked up deposits. He figured that women were at more risk than men, so he made sure to keep an eye on women's college dorms, women-only apartment buildings, and hospital-adjacent places where nurses lived. Angel saw a lot of men sneaking in, but it was always with women's help.

 _Some superhero. You're spying on people's private lives, practicing your flying, and not doing much else._

The sunrise was incredible, but it also made him a little nervous. He was tempted to call it a night. Angel had only gone out at night, so far...he wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of being out in the daylight. He decided to make one more pass over Manhattan.

Angel leapt off of the rooftop-which still made his heart jump-and flew above the city's skyline, gliding slowly. He studied the streets below him. Bakeries and grocery stores were opening, early-shift people were going to work, and bundles of newspapers were being dropped off. He felt like a kid playing dress-up. The city had superheroes that were far more powerful than him, it didn't need some guy with wings and nothing el-

-a blonde women was leaving an office super-late, locking up and walking away, and three men were watching her.

She looked like the extremely-capable assistants they had at Worthington Industries. Glasses, a little frazzled, a little frumpy. She was clutching one of those accordion-style file things. She looked around, presumably wanting to hail a cab. And then she saw the trio of men. They were wearing coveralls and caps, watching her from a distance. Angel saw her face shift from confusion to fear, and she stumbled into a run, with the men suddenly chasing her.

He let himself freefall, dive-bombing toward the woman. She was the priority. Angel had read about this kind of stuff in the paper, and he knew how the heroes-how the _other_ heroes-operated. Iron Man or Spider-Man would grab the bystanders, get them to safety, and then go after the bad guys. But the three men had gotten within ten feet of her. He'd planned on waiting to attack them, but they were so close...he needed to do something. Angel drew his gas-bomb gun, firing one shot at the three men. His target-practice hadn't entirely paid off. He ended up shooting right in front of them, and only one of them ran into the green cloud, while the other two stopped short. Still, it had kept them away from her.

He slowed down as he approached her, so he wouldn't hit her at full-speed, and then he literally swept her off of her feet. He grabbed her around the waist, but her body was stiff and awkwardly-angled. She screamed and kicked and (accidentally?) elbowed him in the face. The extra weight didn't really bother him; his wings were powerful, and his own body was preternaturally light.

Angel was having trouble holding her, so he put her down about a block away, around the corner. He tried to think of something hero-y to say. "Uh, it's okay, miss. You're safe now."

She shouted at him to get away...and then her eyes goggled when she saw his wings.

 _Tell her who you are, genius._ "Spread the word: New York has a new hero! I'm the Avenging Angel, and I'm here to h-"

She fainted dead away.

His arms were too slow to catch her, but one of his wings snagged her before she went down. "Holy!"

Angel lowered her onto the sidewalk, trying to figure out what to do. He didn't have any medical training. Then, some newspaper vendor came running over, waving his arms. "Hey! Hey, you! Get away from her!"

"No, I was-I just saved her, I swear."

The man was surprisingly fearless. When he got close, he grabbed one of Angel's wings, only for it to twitch and jerk away. Angel heard something snap. The man yanked his hand back, clutching it and screaming. "You broke it! You broke it, you sick freak!"

 _He must have gotten his hand caught between my wings' bones._ "Oh my god, I'm sorry. Okay, um, I have to go."

Angel took off, his face as red as his suit. In moments, he'd backtracked, and he saw the three men trying to get into their car (an old Plymouth). The one that had run into the gas cloud was practically being dragged by the other two. It looked like he was barely conscious, because his partners were holding him up. The man must have had the keys: they were patting him down, cursing, and frantically pulling on the driver-side door.

 _Dumb luck-for me, anyway._

Holding both guns, Angel hovered (well, flapped) above them. "Don't move!"

One of the ambulatory men ran off, and the other one pulled a gun of his own.

Angel had never had any sort of weapon pointed at him. He suddenly realized what a big target his wings made him, and froze up.

The man fired. Before that, though, Angel darted to the side, so the shot missed. Angel fired, hitting the man right in the chest. But it was the wrong gun. Instead of gassing him, he hit him with the dense projectile. It knocked the man against the car, and he shouted in pain and dropped his gun, but he didn't go down.

Angel holstered his guns and landed, trying to grab him. The man clipped him with a punch. Angel staggered back, but he'd learned from his last attempt at this; he wing-swatted the guy into the nearest streetlight pole. The man's lower back hit it dead-on. He fell to the sidewalk, groaning.

 _That...went a little better. Sort of._

The third man was gone, unfortunately. But he'd captured the first two and saved the girl. Sure, she'd fainted, but it still counted. Angel knelt down, picking up the rubber ammo he'd shot. He thought about sticking around and explaining everything to the police. But that sort of made him nervous, to be honest, and she could tell them about the men that had chased her. The only other person around was the newsstand guy, who would probably tell the cops about the "freak" that had "attacked" him.

He should have waited and told _someone_. But he had giant wings, he was wearing a red and black suit, and he was standing around in broad daylight, all of which made him feel extremely exposed. Plus, he was only sixteen, so it didn't take much for him to get insecure and fearful. Angel flew off.

By the time that he made it to his favorite hiding place-a hospital rooftop that was covered with angel statues-he was hyperventilating. Angel crouched down and put his head between his knees. He'd thought that he was ready for this, but, having someone point a gun at him? Nearly getting shot and killed? He might've had wings, but he was still the same person, and he needed time to get used to this. Angel was a Worthington, so he knew that he could do it. And he _wanted_ to. Being useful was a new experience, for him, and he couldn't get enough of it. From the first time he'd used his powers to help someone (the fire at his previous school), he knew that this was what he wanted to do. It was just a matter of figuring it out.

Angel's breathing slowed, and he straightened back up. He'd done enough for one night. (The sun was getting higher, so it wasn't actually "night," anymore.) _Time to go back to your dorm room. You can sleep for a few hours, and then get to class._

He started to leave, but a voice called out to him, and he nearly jumped out of his superhero suit. Angel drew his (gas) gun and aimed it in the direction that the voice had come from.

A man in silver and black clothing was standing on the edge of the roof, looking at him. He wore a silver helmet with a thin black visor. "The darkness is coming for you, Angel. I've seen it. But I'm here, and I can help you."

"...um?"

"I'll help you kill your greatest enemy," he said. "And, if we're lucky, we'll end this god-awful world."

Angel paused, started to say something, and then decided to just shoot him, instead. The gas-grenade exploded right at the man's feet.

He expected the man to charge through the cloud and attack, but it didn't happen. Angel drew his other gun, took to the air, and braced himself. But nothing happened. When the cloud dissipated, the silver-and-black man wasn't there, anymore.

 _Oh my god, did he fall off of the rooftop? Did I kill him?_

Angel glided to the edge of the roof, looked down...and saw nothing. The guy's body hadn't hit the ground. Part of him was relieved, and part of him was creeped out. Where had he gone?

He kept waiting for the man to attack, or at least to reappear, but he never did. Angel flew off, wary. He didn't know who this man was, but that was sort of fitting, given his own situation. Angel didn't know _what_ he was. He had suspicions about how he'd gotten his wings, but it wasn't like he could talk to anyone about it.

 _Well, great: somebody finally knows about the Avenging Angel. He's crazy, of course, but at least he knows._


	4. Issue 1, Chapter 3

Matt Murdock loved being Daredevil. It was liberating, it was exhilarating...and it was the exact opposite of everything that he believed in.

He wondered how it was for the others. When Iron Man or Spider-Man looked at their suits-the symbols they wore-did they feel proud? Powerful, maybe? Matt felt that way, as well, but only to a degree. He couldn't hide from the truth. Whenever Daredevil was needed, it meant that the system had failed. He'd "read" Daily Bugle articles that featured quotes from psychologists, who insisted that superheroes were just power fantasies run amok...but, for him, it was the exact opposite. Daredevil was a necessary evil. Matt had devoted a good chunk of his life to studying the law, and he'd spent a few years practicing it, both in Boston and New York. Matt was an idealist. He wasn't doing this to make a quick buck; he actually believed in it. And when he had to put the suit on, part of him felt weak, because it was a sign that the law had let someone down. He loved the law more than anything, and his alter ego was a reminder of how much more work needed to be done.

Classic Catholic guilt: he dreamed of a day when Daredevil would no longer be needed, but he also dreaded it.

It was a little before eight in the morning, and Matt had just walked into the office, sweeping his cane ahead of him. He was tall and slender, and he had red hair. His best friend and law partner, Foggy Nelson, insisted that the reason Matt seemed so "cool" was because he wore dark glasses all the time. For someone that had barely slept, he looked just fine; Stick had taught him the art of trance-sleeping, which made two or three hours of sleep feel more like ten. (And, even if he seemed a little tired, being blind gave him a built-in excuse. Everybody knew that many blind people had trouble sleeping.)

Their office wasn't very big. Since they wouldn't be impressing anyone with their size, their secretary, Karen Page, had decided to go in a more Bohemian direction, as opposed to a corporate one. Matt didn't quite understand what that entailed, but their clients seemed to like it. Before Karen came along, Foggy had been in charge of decorating the office, and that hadn't gone so well. During Karen's job interview, the first question she'd asked was about their "blinding" wallpaper. That was before she knew about Matt's condition. The conversation that followed had been awkward and apologetic, but she'd taken the job.

Nelson & Murdock was fresh off a string of high-profile wins, and in another hour, their office would be packed with potential clients. This early in the morning, though, it was usually just Matt, Foggy, and Karen. But that wasn't the case, today. Matt had heard Marta Dubanowski crying from a block away. Karen was trying to console her, while Foggy stood off to the side, fidgeting. Matt already knew what had happened. Marta's husband-Joe-had been arrested, last night. He'd been part of the crew that Daredevil had taken down.

As part of his previous deal, Joe was on parole, so he wasn't supposed to be congregating with known felons. The driver had probably told the cops everything, and Joe had had drugs on him. Parole violation, possession, conspiracy, and robbery-related charges. Unless the cops had screwed up, Joe would be going to prison for years.

Marta's children were also there. A boy that was about five, and a girl that was about three. They were nervously clinging to Foggy's legs. When Foggy saw Matt, he half-walked, half-waddled over to him. "Mr. Dubanowski has an issue that we need to deal with," he said conversationally.

Foggy was trying not to scare the kids...but Matt could tell that they were already terrified. He smelled the fear all over them.

"Let's go into one of the offices," Matt said.

"I'd really like to, but, uh..." Foggy tried to pry the little girl off; she wouldn't budge.

"Give them some candy."

"Actually, we ran out. The bowl on Karen's desk is empty."

"I know that, Foggy."

"...wait, um, you mean _my_ candy?"

"Yes. The secret stash in your office, the one behind your radio."

"How did y-" Foggy shook his head, sighed, and waddled into his office, with a child hanging onto each leg.

Matt walked over to Karen and Marta. Marta stood up, started to explain the situation, and then collapsed back into tears. He couldn't blame her. Her husband was going to jail, she had two young kids to raise, and she was young, herself. It had been a shotgun wedding when they were still in high school. Matt sort-of knew her: some of her cousins had lived in his building when he was younger, before his father was killed, and he'd seen her when she was a toddler. It seemed like everyone in Hell's Kitchen was connected.

"He was arrested, again," Karen said, keeping her voice low. "We don't know much. It was some kind of attempted robbery, and Joe was injured. Daredevil was there."

Matt Murdock couldn't know what Daredevil did, so Matt played dumb as best he could. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, Marta." He squeezed her shoulder.

 _It'll be impossible to keep him out of jail, this time...but maybe we can get him a reduced sentence, at least. He's cooperated with the police before. Maybe that'll count for something, or maybe they'll feel like he took advantage of them. The cops hate it when they feel like someone is laughing at them behind their backs._

When Foggy returned, the kids were walking on their own, candy in hand. He'd gotten some for himself, as well.

Karen ushered the kids into some chairs and handed Marta another tissue. "Mr. Murdock, Mr. Nelson...if the two of you need to have a conference, I can handle things out here."

"Thank you, Ms. Page," Matt said. He was always glad to "see" her. Karen had picked up a new habit: each day, she wore a different type of flower in her hair. She'd told Foggy that, since most of their clients were struggling in life, she wanted to add little touches that brightened their day. But Matt suspected that it was for his sake, as well. He couldn't compliment her on her hair or her dresses, but the flowers were a different matter-it gave them something to talk about, and it made each new day a surprise.

They went into Foggy's office and closed the door. Foggy's window was open; he mumbled to himself and shut it. His office had a tendency to smell like hamburgers, pizza, and Chinese food, so he'd periodically air it out. It made things a little chilly, at times. The smell wasn't _too_ overpowering, today, though a normal person would have barely noticed. Matt was tough enough to deal with it being a little cold; Foggy shivered and hugged himself.

Foggy was an incredible lawyer. He didn't think of himself that way, but he was. Foggy excelled at research, preparation, negotiation, and deposition questioning. He didn't like being in the courtroom-he hated any sort of public speaking-but he always did just fine. When they'd decided to start a firm together, Foggy had made Matt promise to do most of the court stuff. "Look, let's be honest," he'd said. "You're a better speaker, and juries really respond to you." Juries "responding" to someone was a nice way of saying that a lawyer was taller, or more photogenic, or had a good voice. Matt thought that it was ridiculous; he was always trying to get Foggy to stop underselling himself. His blindness did give him an advantage over Foggy, though. It made him that rarest of creatures: a sympathetic lawyer.

They sat down, and Foggy put his head in his hands. "So, obviously, Joe did something stupid, again," he said. "I guess it was a robbery gone bad. I mean, _all_ robberies are bad, but this one didn't go like it was supposed to. He and some guys tried to hit a shipment of furs, and Daredevil crashed the party. Joe got roughed up. Apparently, the driver was in on it, and he's pointing fingers. There were some other robberies in the past, but Marta insists that Joe wasn't involved with those. And, as an added bonus, he had drugs on him when he was arrested."

"Where's Joe now?"

"He's in the hospital, getting a cast on his foot. The cops did the usual thing-they tried to withhold medical treatment to get him to talk-but he finally mentioned our names, and they let him go get checked out."

 _Okay, start establishing a timeline._ "How did we find out about this?"

"He didn't come home, last night, so Marta went to the local precinct. Some green patrolman told her that he'd been arrested, and then the desk sergeant shushed him."

"Did they give him his call?"

"Yeah, but only for a minute, and he was in the ER, so I could barely hear him. I told him to sit tight and keep his mouth shut."

"What about the other men? Are they talking, or were they hurt, too?"

"Compared to them, Joe was lucky. They're still getting patched up. That's the good news, I guess: when you aren't conscious, you can't make a deal. They haven't had the chance to turn on each other. So, if one of us can get down there in time, maybe we can help Joe beat them to the D.A."

"I'll go." Matt could still hear Marta crying, and guilt was starting to work on him. He hated the idea of taking a father away. It was Joe's fault, not his, but still...

 _Come on, Matt. If he'd been there reluctantly, he would have run, and you would have let him. But that wasn't what happened. He was laughing about the whole thing, and a minute or two later, he tried to grab a gun. At that point, he crossed the line from stupid kid to committed criminal. If he'd gotten away with it, he would've kept pushing his luck, and Marta would have eventually had an even worse situation to deal with._

"Acccctually," Foggy said, fidgeting, "I should probably be the one to go, Matt."

"What? Why?"

"Well, it's just...you're both from the same neighborhood...and you're a success, and he isn't. I think he's a little resentful of you. If he's got a chip on his shoulder, he's more likely to listen to me."

Matt almost chuckled. For all his enhanced senses, he'd completely missed that, while Foggy hadn't.

"Hopefully, it'll just take a few hours." Foggy opened his day-planner. "Let's see, we've got...the tenement class-action at nine, the sick Osborn Chemicals janitor at ten-thirty, and the Rodriguez witness prep at eleven-thirty."

"If you get tied up with Joe, I can handle all of that solo."

"I know you can, buddy," Foggy said. He grabbed his briefcase and stood up. "But, geez, with all the walk-ins we've been getting...I'll try to hurry back."

When they went back into the main part of the office, Marta had regained her composure. She was on her feet, her eyes were dry, and Matt could tell that she was looking at the two of them. "Are you going to see Joe?"

"Yeah, I'm heading over to the hospital right now," Foggy said.

"Good. They wouldn't let me see him, before, so I want to go with you."

Foggy coughed. "Uh, I'm not sure if-"

Marta drew her children to her. "After today, it could be years before we get another chance to see him in a...you know, a normal place."

"I'm sure they'll let you and the kids see him for a few minutes," Matt said. "After that, Foggy can talk with the A.D.A., and you can get a late breakfast."

Foggy mumbled vague agreement, and the four of them headed for the door. The kids waved goodbye to Karen. When they were gone, Matt and Karen were alone.

"Those poor kids," she said, straightening up her desk. "I feel so bad for them."

"Yeah, it's awful."

As Daredevil, Matt was doing great: he'd only been active for a few months, but that didn't mean that he was a rookie. He might have been inexperienced as a vigilante, but Stick had started training him before he was even a teenager, so he was an incredibly experienced fighter. He knew how to handle himself on the streets. But dealing with the stuff that came after that, all the ugly consequences...he was still struggling in that area. Luckily, "seeing" Karen always made him feel better.

When Matt still had his sight, he'd seen radar screens on TV and in movies. But his radar didn't quite look like that. In fact, it didn't _look_ like anything. He didn't see glowing lines in the darkness; he literally felt his surroundings without touching them. It was incredibly visceral. He could sense movement and solid objects, and tell if those objects were smooth or coarse, hard or soft. (And, since it was a 360-degree thing, he was almost incapable of losing his balance for disorientation reasons, which was a good trick for an acrobat to have.) It had messed with his sense-related verbs; a thought like "I see him running away" actually meant "I feel him running away."

So, while Matt couldn't make meaningful eye-contact with Karen, he continuously felt her body. If they were in the same room, his radar sense prevented him from _not_ looking at her. And he felt heat so strongly that his mind processed it in an almost visual way. Matt had a thermal picture of her in his head, which was as close as he came to sight. Experiencing her like that was a guilty pleasure, of course, but it was also one of the highlights of his day.

Matt coughed, feeling his Braille watch. "I've got some time before my first meeting...I'm going to make some calls. With Joe going to jail, Marta's going to need a job. I think I'll ask around."

"Wow, that's really sweet of you."

Matt thanked her and went into his office. (He made sure to turn on the light, since he'd have seeing clients, later.) For the next twenty minutes, he called clients that owed him favors. Most of them owned small businesses or knew people that did. Before long, he'd come up with a few possibilities to present to Marta.

It was always a nice change of pace: making a difference with his words, and not his fists. Sure, it didn't feel quite as...emotionally satisfying, but, intellectually, he knew that it was the better option. There were times when Matt's life reminded him of that fable about the sun and the wind. He had two primary tools in his toolbox, his words and his fists, and each new day seemed like a contest between the two. Which would do a better job of helping Hell's Kitchen? Some days it was one, and some days it was the other.

Matt had become the civilized man that his father had wanted him to be. On the surface, anyway. The anger had always been there. Anger at his mother, for abandoning them. Anger at the kind of people that had murdered his father. Stick had taught him to control that anger...but, as he got older and learned more about the world, he'd discovered just how much injustice was really out there. Matt might have been blind, but there were some things that he couldn't help but see. Rage had nearly eaten him alive. In the end, it had pushed him to take action and become Daredevil.

Every morning, Matt Murdock put on a suit and tie and shook hands with people that deserved to be punched, but he was only able to do that because of what he'd done the night before. Being Daredevil was how he kept the anger from hitting a boiling point. It worked, but it also produced guilt: he was betraying his father's wishes, not to mention his own beliefs, and he was enjoying something that he knew was wrong.

In the main part of the office, Karen was getting things ready for the day, and she was also listening to news on the radio. Matt couldn't help but hear it. So, when some baritone announcer mentioned reports of a "winged man" seen over Manhattan, Matt sat up a little straighter. He remembered what the driver had told him: that there was a new flight-capable person in New York.

As casually as he could, Matt walked into the main part of the office and got a drink of water. Karen was continuing to prepare the office, and, based on what Matt could tell, the news about the winged man hadn't fazed her. The announcer was claiming that the winged man had attacked a woman, and that some heroic news-vendor had saved her. Matt never trusted initial reports on these things; when he'd started wearing his new Daredevil suit, "witnesses" had claimed that there was an eight-foot-tall demon running around.

He took a drink of water, turning toward the radio. "Did I hear that right? Someone with...wings?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I have a girlfriend that lives in Manhattan, and she saw him, the other night."

"What does he look like?"

"She said that he really does have wings-big, white, feathery ones-and he wears a sort of costume. Red and black, with a little yellow. And he has a halo on his chest."

 _Red, black, and yellow? Those are the same colors in my Daredevil suit. And the halo...he has a religious motif, as well. Is this a copycat?_

"She thinks he's some kind of thief-like a second-story man-but _I_ think he's a new superhero. They're always saying bad stuff about Spider-Man, too, but I saw him save a little black boy."

Matt couldn't help himself. "Maybe you're right: maybe he's another hero, like Spider-Man, or Ant-Man...or Daredevil..."

He couldn't see it, but, Karen made a face. "I don't know, I think Daredevil's sort of creepy. I mean, I know that he's helped a lot of people from the neighborhood, but he reminds me of one of those movie monsters. Kind of like the Hulk, I guess."

Matt's heart sank. He didn't know why he was surprised, though. Daredevil was _supposed_ to be scary. _Iron Man and Thor can throw tanks around, so their enemies are automatically terrified of them. But I have to work for it. If the crooks start thinking that I'm just human, my job will get a lot harder. But, let's be honest, she isn't wrong. You might have gotten better at managing all that rage, but it's still there._

The phone rang. Karen answered it, and Matt turned down the radio for her, putting it on its lowest-possible volume. The announcer had stopped talking about the winged man, but Matt was still thinking about him. The same colors, a halo on his chest, and the driver said that he saw someone flying over Hell's Kitchen.

 _You've only fought normal criminals, so far. Mobsters, muggers, hired guns. Is this your first 'archenemy'? I think that Daredevil needs to take a trip to Manhattan, tonight._


	5. Issue 1, Chapter 4

Warren was pretty sure that he'd gotten someone else's miracle by mistake.

If some desperate, devout person had gotten these wings-someone that was just barely scraping by, someone that strongly believed in that stuff-they probably would have been ecstatic. They would have viewed it as a sign. "Look, here's something amazing, now don't lose hope." But that wasn't Warren's situation. He was the scion of one of the Northeast's most powerful and historic families, and he'd never been particularly interested in religion. Warren had been comfortable and happy. Then, one day, his upper back felt like it was trying to give birth, and a "miracle" was threatening to destroy his life.

The wings had started small. They'd first appeared a year ago, when he was fifteen. But, as each month went by, they got bigger and bigger. Warren barely managed to keep them a secret. He needed a way to hide them, and he actually managed to come up with something. His parents had never taught him anything practical-they had people that fixed things and built things for them-but his late grandfather had dabbled in leather-working. The Worthingtons had started out as landed gentry; the closest thing that America had to aristocrats. In the olden days, they'd had a ton of horses, and Worthington men knew how to make their own saddles. His grandfather had taught him just enough to build a sort of wing-harness. Warren was already capable of flattening the wings against his back, and the harness squashed them down even flatter. It left him with a barely-noticeable bump on his back. He was incredibly self-conscious about it, but no one had ever said anything.

It hurt, of course, and it was beyond awkward. But at least he could go out in public. Warren still had nightmares about his last night without the harness, when he realized that his wings were finally too big to hide. He'd stayed up all night in his private dorm room, desperately trying to remember what his grandfather had taught him, and hoping and praying that he could finish the harness before it was time for class. Warren had pulled it off with minutes to spare.

His alarm clock rang, and he rolled over and turned it off. Warren always slept with his wings free-the harness felt like a straitjacket. He yawned, stretched, and rubbed his head. That one crook had nearly punched him right in the face. His suit was on the floor, and he stuffed it (and his guns) into the locked trunk that he hid under his bed. The gun-belt that he'd made was holding up pretty well. His suit was decent, but it didn't have pockets, let alone a place for him to holster his guns.

Showering with wings: always an adventure. If he wanted to get them dry, he really had to shake them, and that got water everywhere. The Worthington name had gotten him a private dorm room with its own bathroom. Warren used a second towel to keep the water from splattering all over the ceiling, draping one end over the curtain rod and holding up the other end with his hands. It got soaked every time.

After his shower, Warren engaged in a morning habit, checking every inch of his body. What if he changed in other noticeable ways? Feathers coming out of his skin, a beak, or something even crazier? Luckily, nothing was different. He got dressed, looked at himself in the mirror, and obsessed over his back-bulge. Warren found himself thinking about the old Squadron Supreme comics he used to read. In those, the hero's secret identity was always the exact opposite of how he really was. But Warren _looked_ like an angel. Blond hair, blue eyes. He had a distant, aloof quality to him, and he seemed a little too perfect to be human. If they only knew.

He grabbed his backpack and stepped into the hallway, making sure to lock the door behind him. Future captains of industry were sleepily shuffling around. Warren was the new kid, and he was the only student that rated a solo room, so he received more than his fair share of angry, suspicious looks.

He'd been back in New York for all of a month. Before that, he'd gone to a private school in New Hampshire. That was where his wings had first appeared. To hide them, he'd been forced to act like the arrogant SOB that everyone thought he was, putting his foot down and insisting on a private dorm room. It hadn't won him any friends. But, a month and a half ago, a middle-of-the-night fire had broken out in the dorms. Warren had been in the school's theater, rummaging around backstage-he wanted to have a backup harness, so he'd been looking for more leather. When he stuck his head out the door, he could hear people screaming for help. The fire department would be there in minutes, he was sure, but how many would die before then?

Warren had done something crazy. He'd pulled out an honest-to-god angel costume, complete with a long blond wig, and somehow squeezed into the thing. When his wings popped out, they tore through the thing's back. He'd felt like he was wearing a hospital gown. Warren had flown out there, grabbed some of the kids that hated him, and put them down on the ground. He hadn't worn a mask, but none of them recognized him. The smoke had helped, as had the combination of blinding flames and midnight darkness...but it was the wings that really did the trick. They were looking at them, not him.

No one died in that fire. For one night, Warren had felt like a hero, as opposed to a freak. He'd thought about all the new superheroes that were appearing. According to his father, there hadn't been that many around since the war. Warren Worthington, Jr. had said that, if they were showing up, it was because the world needed them, just like last time. The youngest Worthington knew what he had to do. He'd transferred to a school in New York City, found a costume, and gone to work.

Warren walked through the halls of his new school. Prestigious private academies were usually located in secluded, out-of-the way places, but this one was right in the middle of Manhattan. It reminded Warren of some of the hotels that he'd stayed in. Lots of brass, leather, and expensive hardwood. Since they didn't have any exterior grounds, everything was indoors...but it never felt cramped. They had restaurant-sized rec rooms, and there was a pair of tennis courts on the roof. All of the dorms and classrooms were part of the same huge building. From the outside, the building looked like a towering library that the general public wasn't allowed into.

All of the usual rich-kid types were there. There were the earnest, neurotic ones, who were desperate to live up to the family name. They were usually old-money. The new-money ones were a little more casual, a little more rock-and-roll. Quite a few of them were from out west. Their fathers had just recently struck it rich, and the boys weren't really used to being part of the upper crust; they viewed kids like Warren as aliens. All that focus on "stuffy" manners and bearing. Some of the students were just killing time until they took over their fathers' empires, and there were two different kinds of them. One was miserable, hating the whole thing and wishing for a different life, and one viewed their high school/college years as an extended party, their last chance to have fun before adulthood clamped down on them.

Warren wasn't any of those types. Not anymore, at least.

He walked past the other boys, who were talking about grades, or sex, or expectations, or just furtively popping pills in the corner. Some of them stopped talking and glared when he went by. Warren stared straight ahead of him, holding his head high. _You're normal, you're normal, you're normal._

When he thought about the woman he'd saved, he felt more confident. When he thought about the silver-and-black man, though, he could feel fear gnawing at the base of his neck.

 _It was just some crazy science-criminal. The stuff that he said about darkness coming for me, and my 'greatest enemy'...it doesn't mean anything. Those guys are always looking for a hero to fight, he was just trying to get you to attack him. Sooner or later, he'll try that with Iron Man or somebody, and he'll get the stuffing kicked out of him. People like that are a little too advanced for you, at this point. You're still figuring out how to deal with muggers. Let the older heroes handle him, and then you'll get the next one._

Warren went into his World History class and sat in the back. He always sat down carefully-he was sure that everybody could hear his wings crinkling. They were really killing him, today. The harness worked, but it was painful, and he was still learning to grin and bear it. Warren generally tried to stand and sit with his back to the wall. If some idiot tried to shove him from behind, his back was bound to feel strange. (And it was sort of ironic: here he was, learning how to be successful, but he was going to have to spend the rest of his life avoiding back-slaps.)

It was early, and there were only a few people at their desks. They glared back at him. Warren found it safest to keep to himself, and the other boys assumed that he was doing it because he thought he was better than them. A year ago, they would have been right, but Warren had changed. He knew what it felt like to be an outsider, now. And what it was like to have real problems. Forget "Which incredibly attractive heiress will I go out with next?", he was now dealing with "How can I avoid being cast out as a freak?"

 _I've never felt so isolated. So alone. Being Angel is a blast, but I wish I had someone to talk to about all this._

Warren was still trying to figure out what he was. In addition to textbooks and notebooks, his backpack contained a few books on mythology and religion. The Worthingtons were twice-a-year churchgoers at best, so Warren hadn't known much about the subject...but he had wings, so he figured that he needed to research angels. The Nephilim had intrigued him. "Sons of God" who mated with human women and produced powerful offspring; some thought that the Nephilim might have been angels. And then there was the scientific explanation. Sometimes, generals and powerful politicians would come to visit his father, and he'd heard a certain word whispered. "Mutant." The frightened, disgusted tone of voice they said it in...it was the same way people said "Communist" or "homosexual." There were always witch-hunts going on. If Warren wasn't careful, he'd end up getting dissected or something.

He squirmed in his seat-he'd been hurrying, this morning, and he hadn't put his harness on quite right. It was even more uncomfortable than usual. Suddenly, a voice said, "These things are awful, aren't they?"

A dark-haired kid sat next to him. His own school uniform was incredibly wrinkled, and he kept trying to get his jacket straight.

"I think I've figured out their evil plan," the kid said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If we actually had comfortable clothes on, we'd be more likely to sleep through class. So, to make sure we stay awake for all this boring crap, they stuff us into uniforms that are trying to strangle us."

"You're probably right," Warren said. He extended his hand the way that his father had taught him, smiled, and said, "I'm Warren."

"I know," the kid said, shaking his hand. "Everybody knows who you are."

 _Not quite,_ Warren thought.

"I'm Jacob Cohen-but everybody calls me Jake."

"Nice to meet you, Jake."

"Likewise. So, Warren Worthington III...how are you liking the academy so far, Third?"

"It's fine."

"...in other words, you hate it, just like the rest of us."

Warren chuckled.

The classroom was starting to fill up, and Warren and Jake were receiving suspicious looks. Warren, of course, was the "snooty" new kid, and Jake was one of the few Jewish kids at their school. In the (surprisingly recent) past, people like Jake hadn't been allowed in at all. Warren had grown up in the New York area; his father had a lot of Jewish friends, and Warren had been friends with their kids. But many of the other students came from out-of-state. Being around Jewish people was a new experience, for them.

Jake reached into his backpack, quickly glanced around, and pulled out a scrapbook. Warren thought that he might have pictures from dirty magazines in there...instead, there were newspaper articles about superheroes.

"I collect capes. Here, check it out." Jake slipped him the scrapbook.

Warren was impressed: he had everyone. The Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, Iron Man, Thor, the Hulk, Daredevil, and even Ant-Man and the Wasp. There were a few yellowing articles about the '50s Captain America, as well-not the real one, but the replacement. Then, at the very end, there was a "MAYBE?" section. It contained a pair of articles about the "winged man" flying around Manhattan.

"It's ridiculous, isn't it? They tell us to put ties on, comb our hair, and act like everything's the same...but there's a revolution going on, out there. I don't know, I guess they're just hoping we won't notice. I mean, come on, it's 1963, and most of these teachers are still stuck in the fifties. They might as well be teaching us to be part of the thriving horse-drawn carriage industry. I like reading about ancient history, but there's history happening _right outside our windows._ The heroes, the Beatles, the social changes: it's all the same thing."

"A revolution, huh?"

"Yeah, and if you listen to people like my great-uncle, it's been going on for decades. He says that you can't have the Swinging Sixties without the Roaring Twenties. According to him, World War I really changed how people thought. A ton of people decided that the war wasn't worth it. It's one thing when the kids are skeptical of authority, but if the _adults_ get that way..."

Warren was tempted to ask him what he thought about the winged man. Instead, he said, "You have a lot of pictures of Invisible Girl in here."

Jake sighed, snatching the scrapbook back. "Yeah, I know, I'm a hypocrite. I'm pretty cynical, so I should probably be going out with some sarcastic artist chick from the Village. Instead, I like the blonde, bubbly girls. Opposites attract, right?"

Warren wondered what his opposite was, now: he had a dark secret that would scare off husband-hunting blueboods, but he was probably still too much of a golden boy to attract the girls that went for tortured James Dean types.

Apparently eager to change the subject, Jake said, "I'm being serious, I think we're right on the cusp of something huge. Not just one revolution, but a whole series of them, maybe."

"Do you think the heroes will start it?"

"No, and they don't need to. Their mere existence is enough to change things. They're walking, talking proof that we don't know everything about the world, and that some changes are too big to be controlled."

Their history professor finally wandered in. The class quieted down, and Warren thought about what Jake had said. He saw the dark, angry way that the other boys looked at Jake, and he also thought about what he'd seen cops do to black people. If it was like this now, how many revolutions would it take before someone like _him_ was accepted?

The history lecture was incredibly dry. Like Jake, Warren actually enjoyed learning about ancient civilizations, but they were stuck with 19th century British economic history, today. He wondered what school was like for non-wealthy students; the classes were probably rowdier, but at least they could pass the time by looking at girls.

Warren stared out the window. He'd never been much of an outdoorsman-he didn't like hunting or camping-but, ever since he'd started flying, he found that he hated being stuck indoors. The sky was part of nature, wasn't it? Warren was starting to have two lives; the one in the air, and the one on the ground. The former was pure and fun and breathtaking; the latter increasingly felt petty and ridiculous. Warren found it harder and harder to come back down. He had to trick himself into doing it, almost.

As usual, their professor took off around the forty-minute mark...he couldn't make it through an entire period without a cigarette break. The professor halfheartedly told them to "keep studying" and shot out the door. A moment later, one of the other boys produced an expensive new gadget: a small transistor radio. Half the class urged him to find a rock and roll station, and the other half wanted to hear superhero news. This guy was apparently a big Fantastic Four fan. It took a few minutes, but he eventually found a news station that was talking about the heroes: apparently, Spider-Man had just beaten the new menace known as Sandman. Everyone was impressed with Spider-Man...and the radio, too.

"They say that Iron Man's armor is transistor-powered, but I think that's CIA disinformation," Jake said. "Transistors don't actually 'power' anyth-"

The announcer had changed topics, talking about the winged man that had "attacked" some people early that morning. Warren nearly banged his desk with his knees. Luckily, everyone was listening to the radio, and no one seemed to notice his reaction.

 _No, come on...that woman I saved, she didn't tell the cops that those guys were chasing her? And that newsvendor probably claimed I hurt him on purpose. God, why am I even doing this? Maybe I should let the older heroes handle stuff. The other guys are more powerful than I am, or geniuses, or both. All I can do is fly._

"Wait, a guy with _wings_?" somebody said. "Like an angel?"

"My old man thinks it means the world is ending," another person put in.

"Isn't that in the Bible?" a third boy said. "The Mark of the Beast, or whatever it is? Couldn't it be wings? And the devil used to be an angel, right?"

 _Great...they're acting like my wings are some kind of sign, but even_ _ **I**_ _don't know what they mean._

Warren expected them to get into a heated debate about the Avenging Angel (not that anyone knew his codename, aside from the crazy guy), and he braced himself, getting ready to keep his mouth shut. But it didn't happen. They wanted to hear about the bigger-name heroes, not him. Jake didn't say anything about it, but he looked at the "winged man" section of his scrapbook, regarding it doubtfully.

 _It isn't fair! They don't know what really happened-they weren't there. They weren't...uh..._

Warren suddenly realized that _he_ didn't know what really happened, either. He'd assumed that the men were trying to mug her-or something worse-but they didn't quite look like muggers. They'd been wearing workman-style coveralls, which could have been a disguise, and they'd clearly been waiting for her to come out of that building. When she saw them, she ran before they even made a move.

 _What if it wasn't a random mugging attempt? They were waiting for her, and she immediately knew that something was up. Did they target her? You should have stuck around...you should have gotten their license plate number, called the cops, and told them what happened. It's one thing to scare off a few opportunity-driven robbers. But if they're really after her, they'll be back._

Warren didn't know if he wanted to keep doing this-or if he even _should_ keep doing it. Maybe he needed to leave this stuff for the more mature, qualified people. But, either way, he needed to clean up his mess. The Avenging Angel would be returning to the scene of the crime, tonight.


	6. Issue 1, Chapter 5

Some things seemed more plausible at night. Dangerous plans, crazy ideas. In the light of day, you never would have considered them...but at night, there was darkness to hide in, and things felt a little wild, a little magical. That was how it had been for Matt Murdock. He'd spent the last fifteen years in perpetual darkness, and the radical notion known as "Daredevil" had been born from it.

It was after nine in the evening. Daredevil was running across rooftops, acclimating himself to Manhattan. It probably looked much better than Hell's Kitchen, but, to him, there wasn't much difference. The sounds and smells were roughly the same. Honking horns, car exhaust, buildings that seemed to contain nothing but arguments, industrial stink, and the constant, slithering rumble of the subway.

One of the reasons that Daredevil stuck to Hell's Kitchen was because he was so familiar with it. Manhattan was a different beast, and he couldn't exactly read street signs. He'd brought a pocket map with him, though, which was currently folded up into a tiny square. Daredevil knew where the basic landmarks were, and he was pretty sure that he could orient himself from there. Half an hour earlier, he'd stopped by a local precinct, and waited around long enough to hear about the "winged man." One of the patrolmen had mentioned the location of the newspaper vendor who was allegedly attacked. Daredevil had his doubts about the official version of events, but he still needed to look into it. If this was some kind of copycat...

This must have primarily been a business neighborhood; he didn't hear enough plumbing (or people) for it to be a residential one. It was practically deserted. Daredevil swung down to the street, stuck to the shadows (it was easy for him to find shadows, they were always a bit cooler), and crept around.

There wasn't any evidence near the shut-down-for-the-day newsstand. But, around the corner, he found some interesting things. There was an extremely faint smell of gunpowder in the air. Also, a streetlight pole was dented, and there was a little blood near it. It smelled relatively fresh; probably from the last twenty-four hours. He also smelled burnt-rubber tire tracks on the street.

 _A shot was fired, somebody got slammed into that pole, and a car sped off. Other than his hand, the newsvendor didn't have any injuries. This winged man definitely tangled with some third party. If it had been the cops, the whole precinct would have been talking about it, so it must have been criminals, instead. But is he a superhero or a rival criminal? And the men that he fought with...are they connected to this neighborhood, or is the location irrelevant?_

Daredevil knew that he was in a business neighborhood, but he had no idea what those businesses actually were. Only a few of them had engraved signs that his radar sense could read. Certain types of businesses tended to be mob-connected, or were especially vulnerable to strongarm tactics, and that might give him a clue as to what had happened here. Then again, what if the winged man was the one connected to the neighborhood? What kind of business would someone like him be associated with? A chemistry concern, maybe?

As he returned to the rooftops, he grimaced, because he'd just discovered another difference between Manhattan and the Kitchen. Hell's Kitchen didn't have so many business-type offices. In Hell's Kitchen, it was easy for him to identify all of the businesses. The butcher shops, the sheet metal places, the offices that electricians and plumbers worked out of. Manhattan also had those, without a doubt...but this was a white-collar neighborhood, and most of those offices smelled roughly the same. The mob might be interested in a certain accountant's office or lawyer's office, while they wouldn't care about some political thinktank. But how was he supposed to tell the difference between them without breaking in?

 _You'll just have to watch and wait, Matt. If the winged man or the criminals are connected to this neighborhood, sooner or later, they'll show up._

He crouched in the dark and let the minutes tick by. Most people would have been afraid-to them, the darkness was a blank screen to project their fears onto. But the darkness that Matt saw was rich, vibrant, and packed with information. It was the known, rather than the unknown.

While he waited, he went back and forth on his copycat theory: if the winged man was really a copycat, why would he be in Manhattan, and not Hell's Kitchen? The driver from the previous night claimed to have seen a flying man over the Kitchen, but he hadn't provided much in the way of detail. New York had more flying people in it all the time. The color coincidence was weird, though. Both of them using red, black, and yellow. He was a devil, and this new guy was an angel...

Daredevil made "laps" around the block where the winged man had been sighted, leaping across rooftops and patrolling the neighborhood. That way, if anything was happening just outside of his sensory range, he'd catch it when he passed by. But he heard the clocks strike ten, and this part of Manhattan seemed to be down for the night.

Matt Murdock could have lived and worked here. He constantly received offers from bigger law firms in better parts of the city; offers that included expensive apartments, personal chauffeurs, and presumably-beautiful personal assistants. Hell's Kitchen was full of hard-luck kids; only a small percentage of them went on to become success stories. Matt was the latest example, and one of the biggest ones. His mother had abandoned him, he'd been blinded, his father had been murdered...and, despite all that, he was now an up-and-coming lawyer. Newspapers and TV stations were constantly calling the office, wanting to do human-interest profiles on him.

But Matt wasn't like the other survivors of Hell's Kitchen. If they felt their conscience tugging at them and came back to help, they did it decades later, after they'd made their money and lived their lives. Matt had only spent a few years in Boston, getting enough experience to start his own firm. People loved to talk about civic responsibility, but he could hear the doubt in the voices of his neighbors and clients: why would a young, promising attorney waste the best years of his life in this hellhole? Matt sometimes wondered the same thing. There were times when he felt like a hero, and there were times when he felt like an angry, vengeance-driven masochist. The truth was probably somewhere in the middle.

(Matt was pretty sure this his blindness was the only cover he'd need, in terms of a secret identity. But, if people ever became suspicious of his strange commitment to the Kitchen, he'd toyed with the idea of adopting a slightly-different civilian persona, one that would make him seem even less likely to be a vigilante. In the end, though, he'd realized that it was unnecessary. What person in their right mind would ever think that a _lawyer_ was a heroic person?)

Daredevil spent half an hour making laps, watching and listening to the city. Then, an interesting car came into his sensory range, and he stalked it from the rooftops. It was a Cadillac, and it had five men in it. The car parked just down the street from where the fight had been. He recognized some of the voices and heartbeats: they were mid-level organized criminals, Hell's Kitchen boys that were starting to branch out into other boroughs, because the Kitchen was getting too hot for them. _Unfortunately, I'm not the only reason they're looking for greener pastures. They're afraid of me, but they're afraid of this new 'Kingpin,' too._

"-don't like this, don't like this at all."

"Come on, Jimmy, what other choice do we have?"

"We could try the assistant, again."

"That was a stupid idea the first time, and it didn't work then, either." The man who said that had a deep voice; he was the one driving the car.

"It could've worked!" the third man said. "If that bird-freak hadn't shown up, we would've been fi-"

"Are you kidding me? We're lucky she didn't go to the cops," the fourth man said.

"She can't. She helps her boss keep the books, so she has to know what's going on. She'd be getting both of 'em in trouble."

The deep-voiced man: "Shut up, you idiots. Let's talk about what we _do_ know and what we _don't_ know. We _do_ know that she didn't tell him about what happened, or else he would've come back from his vacation. But we _don't_ know if she knows the combination or not. If she doesn't, we'd be wasting even more time. It's easier to just go in, grab the safe, and crack it later. Anybody doesn't like that, there's the door."

"At least it had a good unintended confidence: the Three Stooges here scared her off, so we won't have to deal with anybody pulling an all-nighter."

"Unintended _confidence_? Oh my god, you're a fu-"

"Shut your mouths and open your eyes. If we're clear, we'll do it."

"Of course we're clear...all the pencil-pushers have gone back to their fancy houses."

"Wait, are we sure the safe's gonna fit in the trunk?"

"We shouldn't even be doing this. Come on, we had an okay month, we could _buy_ dope from somebody. This is askin' for trouble."

"We _have_ to do this," the deep-voiced man said. He was clearly the leader. "We've got a bunch of new feds running around, we've got the Devil breathing down our necks, and now we've got this new player, too. If we're gonna survive, we need to start moving more product. And we'll make more money if we get it for free."

 _Wait, new feds running around?_ As Matt Murdock, he routinely interacted with the city's D.A.s, and as Daredevil, he frequently overheard uniformed officers talking in their patrol cars. If the FBI was stepping up their operations in New York, he would have heard a lot of complaining. The gun-carrying men he came across were usually cops, criminals, or private investigators.

"We'll give it a few minutes, just to be safe, and then go in," the deep-voiced man said.

 _So, they're after dope that's being stored in some office safe...it must be a front for a criminal operation. An accountant or a lawyer, maybe?_

One of New York's most common noises was wings: the city was infested with pigeons. He always heard flapping, which was either loud (close) or quiet (distant). So, as a result, Daredevil didn't think anything of it when he heard a new pair of wings. Given how loud they seemed to be, the pigeon should have been close...but it wasn't showing up on his radar sense, which meant that it was out of range.

And then the winged man landed two rooftops over.

Daredevil had been crouching in the shadows, and from the angle that the winged man was at, a large chimney blocked him from view. The winged man apparently hadn't seen him from the air, either. He just touched down and oriented his head toward a certain building. Daredevil could hear his wings' bones moving, and he heard the muscles in his back moving them, as well.

 _Oh my god, those are real. I thought it might be some kind of magnetic trick, like the Vulture's suit, but this...this is crazy. Is this an actual angel? Is he really there, or am I losing my mind? The irony makes me think I'm probably not imagining it. A sign appears, one that would give hope to hundreds of millions, and the only witness is a blind man. Yeah, that sounds about right._

Daredevil could use a person's lungs and heartbeat to determine their age. If not for the strange circumstances, he would have said that the winged "man" was actually a boy, because his lungs and heart were incredibly strong. Daredevil would have guessed that he wasn't even old enough to get drafted. But this individual wasn't exactly a normal specimen: for all Daredevil knew, immortal angels always had young-seeming bodies.

Was the winged man simply a human with special abilities? Could he be a small-g god like Thor, or something even stranger? And, if he _was_ a threat, what would happen when Daredevil tried to take him down? Would he break his hand against his face? Was this someone that could demolish buildings, or fry people from a distance? And, assuming that he survived, how many Hail Mary's would he have to do for beating up an angel?

 _Let it play out. If he tries to capture them, he's one of us...and if he tries to murder them, or steal the dope..._

"Okay, it looks all-clear to me," the deep-voiced man said, grabbing a pouch that contained lock-picking tools. Daredevil could hear them clinking together. "Let's try being quiet, for a change. No slamming car doors." The deep-voice man killed the engine, and started to get out.

"Hey, wait, shouldn't we leave the car running?"

"No, it might attract attention. We don't know how long this is gonna take. Once we get the safe loose, Jimmy can come down ahead of us and start it."

Daredevil watched in silence. The five men got out, shut the car doors-quietly-and went to the building's entrance. A minute and a half later, the deep-voiced man had picked the lock. They walked right in. Once they were out of sight, the winged man took to the air, descending on the scene. He looked inside the car, probably checking to see if there was anybody that could warn them, and then he followed the gang into the building, keeping his distance.

 _It's showtime._

Daredevil swung across the street, casually perching on a narrow windowsill. The window that belonged to it didn't offer much resistance. He somersaulted inside, and he landed on carpet. This particular office smelled like cake and perfume. Now that he was inside, it was even easier for him to track them: the robbers were making their way up the stairs, and the winged man was stalking behind them. He let himself out of the office, locking it behind him.

A hallway awaited. Daredevil walked noiselessly, like a ninja would. Some of the robbers, on the other hand, were being much too loud. The deep-voiced man kept trying to quiet them, but it wasn't working. His less-capable employees were arguing, bumping into things, and occasionally dropping their flashlights. When they left the stairwell and picked a floor, Daredevil was already there. He'd been keeping pace with them via the building's other stairwell. Two of the men were big lugs, who were probably there to haul the safe out, and the other three were average-sized. But the other three were also armed. Guns, switchblades, brass knuckles. The winged man had apparently made them a little paranoid.

Daredevil heard the lock picks, again, and a door was opened. Footsteps went from tile to carpet, and the deep-voiced man whispered to his goons. "His office is over there. It's a free-standing safe, so it won't be in the wall or the floor."

They went inside and partially closed the door. The winged man stepped into the hallway, approached the office, and stood just outside it, cocking his head. Daredevil watched from the other end of the hall.

They'd apparently found the safe: "Oh, man, this thing is _huge_. It's taller'n my kid!"

"Geez, maybe we should've brought more guys."

"We'll be fine. Carmine, Richie, c'mon. Lift with your knees."

"Well, there's no way this thing's fitting in the Caddy's trunk, so I guess some of us are walking home, huh?"

"Shut u-"

"DON'T MOVE, NOBODY MOVE"-the winged man had pushed the door open, and he had a strange gun in each hand. His voice didn't crack, but it still sounded young, just like the rest of him.

The two lugs cursed and dropped the safe, which nearly went through the floor. Daredevil heard guns clear holsters and waistbands. He drew his billy club, sprinting down the hall.

One of the crooks shouted "MARY MOTHER OF GOD"-and then three of them were shooting, but it was dark, and they probably couldn't see well. One of the bullets ricocheted and shattered a window. The winged man flew above their shots, hitting his head on the ceiling and crashing/bouncing across the floor. He fired some kind of gas container that shattered on impact. A few of the men inhaled (the coughing gave it away), but the winged man got a bit of it, as well. The sudden gust of outside air had probably screwed up its dispersion. Also, the winged man was clearly having trouble operating in an enclosed space: his wings kept hitting the furniture and ceiling. The pair of lugs charged him, and Daredevil heard the sounds of a scuffle, followed by blows landing. The lugs grabbed the winged man's arms, and a gun-toting man tried to get close enough to kill him execution-style, but a wing smacked him across the room.

The winged man accidentally dropped his guns, and the deep-voiced man coughed and screamed "HOLD HIM HOLD HIM HOLD HIM!"

 _He isn't an angel_ _ **or**_ _a criminal-he's just a kid-_

Daredevil charged into the room, throwing his billy club. It disarmed two of the gun-toting men, and it clipped the third one right across the face, startling him so badly that he dropped his gun. While it was bouncing around, Daredevil went after the men holding the kid. He punched one of them in the throat, sweep-kicking him to the floor, and he grabbed the other one's arm, breaking it with one clean motion. The kid stumbled and flapped a few feet off of the floor. "GET AWAY, GET AWAY!"

 _Just stay out of my way for another ten seconds._

Daredevil caught his billy club, brought it down on the lug who still had two working arms, and then took account of the other three men. Two of them were on their hands and knees, frantically searching for their guns. The deep-voiced man ignored his lost gun and pulled out a switchblade and a backup piece. He coughed, stood his ground, and fired in a wide arc, filling the room with lead.

The kid flattened himself against the ceiling; Daredevil flipped into the air and once again threw his billy club. No fancy ricochets, this time-it hit the deep-voiced man right in the forehead. He collapsed in a heap. Daredevil landed, rolled low, snatched his billy club, and targeted the other two men, who'd gone from searching for their guns to ducking their boss' fire. He grabbed them by their shirt-collars and slammed their heads together.

Everyone was down. "It's over, kid," Daredevil said. "But we need to talk."

The kid coughed, finally found his guns, and aimed both of them at Daredevil. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!"

 _He nearly got killed, he inhaled whatever that stuff is...and now he's just a few feet away from a guy in a devil suit. Calm him down, Matt._

"I'm a superhero, too," Daredevil said, though he'd never really felt like one. "I just want to help you."

The kid's entire body was shaking, and he (accidentally?) fired.

Daredevil's radar sense detected a firm, round projectile coming at him, and his first thought was to hold his breath...but it smelled like rubber, not metal or something breakable. It was one of those new non-lethal things. Daredevil remained where he was, and he used his billy club to bat it right back at him. The dense rubber ball hit the kid in the shoulder. He staggered backwards, and then he flew at him, swinging his guns like clubs. Daredevil smelled the fear on him-he wasn't thinking, he was panicking.

The kid crashed into him, pushed him into the hall (his wings briefly tightened to avoid hitting the doorway), and slammed him against a wall. _Great, another hallway fight._ Daredevil blocked a gun-swing. The kid was strong, but he didn't put his entire body into the attack. A second gun-swing came at him. This time, Daredevil caught the kid's wrist, yanked him forward, and elbowed him in the side of the head. He then seized his upper arm and waist, flipping him. But there's no point in flipping someone that can fly. The kid sort of spun in mid-air, remained there, and hit him with a wing. Daredevil landed on his back and slid down the hallway. His wings were stronger than he was, and hard to avoid; it was like getting hit with a door.

"I'm...I'm taking you to jail..." The kid had his hand pressed against the side of his head, and he was trying to line up a shot.

Daredevil bounced his billy club off of the walls, but, before it could disarm him, it actually got stuck in one of his wings. _Okay, I've never had_ _ **that**_ _happen, before._

Still, it made the kid flinch and freeze up for a second. Daredevil flipped toward him, landed, and punched him in the stomach. Just hard enough to wind him.

"Are you ready to listen, now?" He yanked his billy club out. "I don't want to fight you, I just want to talk."

Daredevil expected the kid to give up. Instead, he grabbed him with his wings, backed up against a window, and crashed right through it. They both fell out. The kid spread his wings and tried to fly away (dropping Daredevil in the process), but Daredevil snagged his ankle. After some wobbly flying, they crashed on a nearby rooftop, kicking up dust.

"I want answers," Daredevil shouted. "Are you copying me? Is this some kind of crazy coincidence, or-"

Suddenly, his radar sense detected a third person on the roof, and he heard him breathing, as well. _Where did that guy come from?_ Something hit him, though his radar sense didn't detect it, and he was driven to his knees. It felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

A fuzzy, filtered voice said, "I told you, Angel. I told you that the darkness would attack you."


	7. Issue 1, Chapter 6

"Please, I'm begging you, listen to me carefully. We can save humanity. Right here, on this rooftop."

Warren-Angel-had just experienced the most terrifying five minutes of his life. He'd narrowly avoided getting shot (again); he'd accidentally inhaled a little of his knockout gas; he'd gotten smacked around by two huge goons. Angel had been in a panicky haze, struggling to use his wings in the cramped office. And then he'd been fighting with Daredevil. He didn't even know how it started, he just remembered a constant stream of attacks and the terrifying red eyes behind them. And now the silver-and-black man was back. Angel was shaking, but he aimed both guns at him, keeping his distance.

"I knew all this would happen. In fact, I _saw_ it happen. A being of light fighting a being of darkness. I thought they were memories, but they must have been visions, instead."

The silver-and-black man wore what looked like a space helmet, which featured a thin black visor, and his uniform had a metallic shimmer to it. His hands were glowing silver. Was he an alien, or a robot? His voice sounded like something coming out of a radio.

"What I'm about to tell you...you'll think it's some crazy cult thing, but it's actually just math. Playing the odds."

Some invisible force seemed to be pressing Daredevil against the rooftop, and he was struggling to get back to his feet. It looked as if he was trying to do a push-up. At one point, the effect seemed to be wearing off, and the silver-and-black man shot another energy ring at him. Daredevil was physically slammed against the hard surface.

"Most religions and mythologies...they have light and dark, good and evil. Right? They usually have the same ending, too. Light defeats darkness, the world ends, and humanity goes to a better place."

Between getting gassed and getting pounded on, Angel still felt woozy. He blinked, continued to aim his weapons, and tried to figure out what this guy was saying.

"Think about it. Ever since we found out about Thor, we've _known_ that at least one pantheon is real. Magic is out there. There are probably other pantheons, other gods."

"Okay, s-slow down, I want you to tell me who you a-"

"I don't know what you are. You could be human, a celestial being, or something completely different. It doesn't matter. The important thing is, you're the closest thing the world has to an actual angel. And _he's_ the closest thing we have to an actual devil."

Daredevil glared at the silver-and-black man, grunting.

"Do you really think this is a coincidence? An angel and a devil show up at the same time, in the same city, right as the world is on the edge of nuclear war?"

"Uh-"

"Those end-of-the-world situations I talked about...some of them have to be real, right? If Thor is real, if magic is real, it makes sense. I think that we can 'trip' one of them. If light defeats darkness, the whole process will be activated, and we'll all go to a better place."

Daredevil laughed. "He wants you...to kill me..."

Angel looked at him, looked at the silver-and-black man, and struggled to speak.

The silver-and-black man nodded and said, "That's right. Think of it as a ritual-a sacrifice. One death, and we could save billions."

Angel was feeling more coherent. He tightened his grip on his weapons, and he flapped into the air, creating more distance between them. "You're crazy!"

"No, what's crazy is the idea that we can save ourselves. As we speak, there are men-brilliant, well-meaning men-who are trying to build our future. I worked with them. They have incredible things planned for us, but it won't be enough. We're human, and we'll find a way to screw it up, just like we always do. This is the only way to break the cycle."

Suddenly, the silver-and-black man created an energy ring in his right hand, gripped it, and floated into the air, until he was level with Angel. Angel cursed under his breath, and his innards turned into a lump of ice. He'd never fought someone that could fly...

"But you have to be the one that does it, Angel. I'm the Halo Knight, and I'm here to help you, but I'm not the light. You are."

"...you're out of your mind, 'Halo Knight.' I'm not gonna kill another superhero!"

"He attacked you, and he'll attack you again. I've seen it. The light and the darkness fight over and over, and it doesn't end until the light does what needs to be done."

"No, I attacked him," Angel said, suddenly remembering. He heard sirens approaching.

Halo Knight made an angry noise, and he fired another energy ring, which kept Daredevil pinned to the rooftop. "You're the only one that can do this! Whoever you are, whatever you are, you were born for this! You can save all of us!"

Angel didn't know what he was, or what he'd been born to do. He felt doubt slithering through his mind. But he looked at Daredevil, and he knew enough to make a decision.

"Okay, let me get this straight," Angel said. "I don't even know you, and you expect me to murder someone for you-a hero-because you think that it _might_ have a good side-effect. And this 'good' side-effect is that the world will end. Is that about right, Halo Maniac?"

"You're...you're not..." Halo Knight was clutching his fists, and he kept shaking his head. "...you're not him. You're not the light."

Daredevil shouted a warning, but it was too late. Halo Knight hit Angel with one of his energy rings-and it had the exact opposite effect as the ones that had hit Daredevil. Instead of making him plummet to the ground, it sent him spiraling up into the air. It was some sort of gravity thing. Angel fought against it, but it was like the tide, dragging him away. Daredevil couldn't get up, and Angel couldn't get back down...

 _ **To be continued...**_


	8. Issue 2, Prologue

There was a new era in America, and he desperately, desperately wanted to be part of it...but he wasn't. Not yet, anyway.

His handler had told him to go to New York City. They were supposed to meet up around midnight, which meant that he had the day to himself. He'd spent it walking around the city. The Candidate had been in New York before-he'd carried out a few operations there-but that had been years ago. The place had really changed, to say the least. Everyone kept looking up. College kids were running around with big, clunky cameras, hoping to strike it rich. The cynical, hard-bitten city that he remembered was now full of wonder and excitement. It was more like that in some neighborhoods than others, granted, but even Hell's Kitchen felt a little hopeful. Hood-looking criminal types kept nervously whispering to each other, while squarejohn citizens walked the streets unafraid.

The Candidate saw the Human Torch and Spider-Man. Newspaper headlines talked about atomic power, supersonic tests, and the space program. It was like living in the future.

No one had given him a second glance...but then, that was part of his training. He knew how to blend in. The Candidate was a young man-he wouldn't be turning thirty until next year-and he had brown hair and brown eyes. He wore a dark suit and a blue tie. In the past, his hair had been much shorter, but he was out of the military, now. For his current job, he needed to look like a standard civilian. He carried two guns, a knife, a garrote, a poison-capsule, and a miniature camera that was the size of a wallet.

Unfortunately, the day was over, now. It was night, and it was time to get to work. He was walking to the address that his handler had given him. New York never slept, so there was plenty of two-legged camouflage for him to hide in, and many of them looked like him: suit-wearing men that had put in extra hours at the office (or the bar), and were just now going home.

The Candidate's original name didn't matter. Not to him, anyway. Once upon a time, he'd been an angry, troubled boy that lived in a tiny desert town, but that person was gone. He'd had a run-in with the law when he was sixteen, and a judge had given him a choice. Jail or the service. He'd joined the military, fought in the Korean War, and finally gotten to prove that he was more than no-name white trash. He earned stripes, medals. His exploits led to even more important work. He'd taken part in conflicts that history would never know about, including one that involved Nazi holdouts in a place called the Savage Land.

And then, when it was time for him to make a decision about his future, an Agency man had approached him. "If you want, you can go home and enjoy that freedom you've been protecting. Marry the girl next door and all that kind of stuff. But, if you don't feel like you're done, yet, we have more for you to do."

The Candidate did jobs in Russia, Cuba, Vietnam, Latveria, and countries that he'd never even heard of. He murdered America's enemies while they were sleeping. The Agency taught him how to spy, steal, infiltrate, and assassinate. He'd thought that he knew how to fight, but they'd brought in people that pushed him to a new level. In the run-up to America's involvement in World War II, the military had scoured the globe for martial arts experts, using them to train the original Captain America. Some of these men were still alive, and they'd taught the Candidate everything they knew. The Candidate got to where he could take out a dozen armed men with nothing but his fists and feet.

Some of his targets were truly dangerous individuals, and their deaths definitely made America safer. Others, though...he wasn't entirely sure why he was killing them, though he was always told that he was "protecting American interests."

While his own life became darker, America was getting brighter. Kennedy was a breath of fresh air. He was a politician, so he was compromised in certain areas, but the Candidate loved what he represented. The Agency didn't. They still blamed him for the Bay of Pigs-which was easier than admitting that they'd mishandled their end of it-but there was also the matter of Operation: Northwoods. A year ago, the Joint Chiefs had proposed a series of false-flag attacks, making it appear as if Cuba had attacked the U.S. mainland. The public would be outraged, and call for a war against Cuba. But Kennedy had shot Northwoods down. The Pentagon and the Agency had wanted a full-scale war; they'd had to settle for less, and they weren't happy.

Things were tense right now, but the Candidate was glad to be back in America. The country was changing in incredible ways...and he was eager to follow suit. For the last few years, he'd lived in the shadows, utilizing a variety of cover identities. He was ready to become someone better, and step into the light.

The Candidate had heard the whispers all along. "They're grooming you," "They've got plans for you." Then, a few weeks ago, he'd been officially informed that he was a candidate for a certain program, and given a new call-sign. It was something that could change his life, but he was trying not to get his hopes up.

Was tonight about that? Or were they giving him another job-another chance for him to prove that he was worthy of the mantle?

The address they'd given him was a plain-looking office building. He quickly climbed a fire-escape ladder, got on a rooftop, and watched it through a small, extendable telescope. All of the lights seemed to be off; he didn't see any suspicious figures or vehicles lingering near the building. He'd heard sirens a few minutes ago, but they were in another part of Manhattan, and they'd been getting further away, not closer. The Candidate went back down to the street, did a weapons-check, and walked to the door.

Getting inside was easy. As ordered, he went to the east end of the second floor, and he found an unfurnished office. A dusty sign said that it was available for leasing. The office's air seemed stale and undisturbed, but he could tell that someone was there. He drew a gun from his hidden shoulder-holster and aimed it at a corner.

"Easy, easy." He recognized the voice: it was "John," his new handler.

"Trying to sneak up on me...that's a good way to get yourself killed."

John stepped out into the open, holding his hands up. He was smiling. "Did you have an enjoyable day in the city, Agent?"

"I'd have enjoyed it more if you weren't spying on me."

John put his hands down, and he tried to act shocked. "I wasn't-"

"A little after three in the afternoon, Times Square. I was talking to a blonde, and you were wearing a blue suit, trying to hide behind a delivery truck."

"I just wanted to make sure she wasn't Russian."

"John" was like every other handler he'd ever had: expensive clothes, a lot of excuses. This one seemed like a real golden boy. He had sandy blond hair, and he was clearly uncomfortable in less-than-posh settings. John was always checking his watch-like he had better places to be.

The Candidate holstered his weapon, sighing. "Am I here for a job?"

"You are, yes."

This was usually the part where "John" gave him some files, or at least a photograph of the target...but, this time, he just stood there with his hands in his pockets. "This is a different type of job."

 _Oh, great._

"Are you familiar with the work they're doing upstate? The mutant, the outer space stuff?"

"Of course I am. His name's Paul Battaglia," the Candidate said, crossing his arms. "I'm the reason the Russians don't know about him. NASA's security people screwed up, and the Chameleon almost got the project files. God, if those idiot guards hadn't blundered in and scared him off, I would've had a great shot at capturing him."

John clearly didn't know about any of that, and he got a horrified look on his face-the classic "I can't believe my asset knows more about something than I do" look. That made the Candidate smile.

"Anyway, my point is, that program has a problem," John said. "The mutant went rogue a few days ago. He's in the city, and we think he's after some of the local heroes."

"...what? Why?"

"I wish I could tell you," John said. "They think he's having mental problems. Gravity powers screwing up his brain, something like that. Apparently, he's been having these 'memories,' but they're actually hallucinations. They started a month or so ago. Something about heroes and villains that don't exist, I guess. I don't know if it's related, but, when he was younger, his powers made him really sick. He became fascinated by the idea of the afterlife. He's fixated on these two new heroes: the vigilante known as Daredevil, and a new mystery-man with wings, who sort of looks like an angel."

 _Sounds like some kind of religious thing._ "If they knew that he was mentally unstable, why didn't they lock him down?"

"Well, A, this guy is powerful, and we don't have the science to imprison him. Not yet. And B, they thought that he might have mental powers, too. What if he wasn't imagining that stuff? What if he could do remote viewing, or maybe even see the future? They waited to see if his 'visions' were accurate...but I guess he's just crazy."

The Candidate frowned, shaking his head. This kid was the cornerstone of the space program-Kennedy's biggest project. Without him, Russia might beat them to the moon.

"What are my orders?"

"Like I said, we'd never be able to hold him, so capturing him would be pointless. And what if the Russians found out about him because of this? If they beat us to him, and offered him a better deal...it'd be a disaster. There's also the issue of him knowing things about the space program. If he takes some reporter hostage, or he crashes into a TV studio and starts talking on-camera, we're in big trouble. We need you to eliminate him ASAP."

John seemed extremely nervous, today. The upper echelon must have really been worried about this. Everything that he'd said was true, but the Candidate knew that there was another reason to take him out, as well. They couldn't let the public find out about the existence of mutants, let alone that the government sometimes worked with them.

The Candidate stayed calm on the outside, but on the inside, he wanted to strangle the mutant. _I can't believe him. He had the chance to be part of something incredible, something that will help all of humanity, and he threw it away for nothing. I'd give anything to have skills or powers that would help with a project like that._

"We just...we can't afford to take another big hit in the next few months," John said.

" 'another' big hit?"

"Well, I'm thinking in advance: sooner or later, it'll get out that Doom has seized power in Latveria, and it'll be a major black eye for the Agency."

The Candidate didn't care about that right now. "His powers-gravity rings, right? They can make people and objects really light or really heavy?"

"Yeah," John said, looking a little nervous. "But, uh, apparently, he can fly, too."

The Candidate ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know how to kill someone that could just up and fly away from him, but he'd have to figure it out.

"Obviously, the mutant is extremely dangerous, so we'll be sending you in with a team. I assume that won't be a problem?"

"No, of course not." As an assassin, he was a lone wolf...but, before that, he'd been a soldier, and he knew how to be a team player. The job wasn't about his ego. In a situation like this, where national security was on the line, they couldn't afford to take any chances. The more help he had, the better.

"There's one other thing," John said, touching his watch (but somehow managing not to look at it). "The mutant stole a spacesuit prototype. They say that it's 'combat-oriented'-for fighting Russians on the moon, someday, I guess. The helmet is bulletproof, and the suit itself is padded and protective."

"Great."

"This is an extremely serious situation," John said, avoiding eye-contact, "but look at it this way: you couldn't have asked for a better audition, right? If you get the job, you'll be fighting freaks like him all the time."

"This isn't about me."

It was the truth...but, in the back of his mind, he knew that John was right. He was a candidate for the Sentinel of Liberty Directive. The original Captain America had been missing in action (and presumed dead) for almost twenty years, and with all the new powered people running around, the military was thinking that it was time for a new one. The Candidate's new call-sign was Sentinel-3. He'd always done what his country asked of him, but he was ready for a change of pace: to be a symbol of hope.

Sentinel-3 was thinking about that, and feeling better...so, naturally, his handler had to ruin everything. "If the mutant leaked intel to anyone, they'll have to be eliminated, as well. He's obsessed with Daredevil and the winged man. We don't know anything about them, so they're complete wild cards. If they know about his connection to the space program, or they try to interfere, well-"

"I'm not killing superheroes for you, John."

"Oh, uh, no, I didn't mean to imply that. Sorry. What I was trying to say was, they might know more about this situation than we do. So, if you encounter them in the field, we want you to bring them in for interrogation. Whether they come willingly or not. It's two birds with one stone: we keep certain details from leaking out, and we find out what they know. Plus, they're heroes, so maybe they'll play ball and help us with this."

"I understand."

Sentinel-3 had hoped to be their ally, not their enemy. Fighting them was the last thing that he wanted to do-it literally made him feel sick to his stomach-but certain national secrets needed to be kept. He also had an ulterior motive, of course. America's "New Frontier" was coming along nicely, but there was still a lot of turmoil and chaos out there, and the country needed Captain America. This could be the assignment that got him the job. He wasn't going to let anyone stand between America and what it needed, even if the people in question were part of the brotherhood that he wanted to join.


	9. Issue 2, Chapter 1

**Daredevil & Angel: The Silver Age**

 **Issue #2**

" **Fellowship"**

Angel couldn't stop falling up.

It was night, and he was rocketing straight up, uselessly flailing his limbs and wings. He was screaming, though he couldn't hear himself. The sounds were abandoned far below him. He'd managed to hang onto his guns, this time. The man who called himself "Halo Knight" was keeping pace with him. He was shouting something about saving people and preventing suffering, and he kept firing those silver energy rings at him...but he was using one to fly, so he could only shoot them from his other hand. Angel was barely able to keep track of his opponent. His body was spinning, and the entire world seemed to be a blur. Halo Knight's attacks were currently missing him-a moving figure trying to shoot a moving target-but each shot got a little closer.

 _BREATHE. CALM DOWN. THINK._

One type of gravity ring had pressed Daredevil down; the other type had sent Angel plummeting upwards. Both kinds of rings looked the same. He couldn't control his flight, and Halo Knight was starting to zero in on him. Halo Knight didn't seem to be a great shot...but then, Angel wasn't, either. He didn't think he could successfully hit him with either gun, not in a situation like this. The phrase "fight or flight" popped into his head, and he laughed, overcome with a sense of gallows humor. He couldn't fight _or_ fly, right n-

 _-wait, wait, stop fighting it. Let the momentum carry you, like a surfer on a wave. Add your wings to it. Maybe you can outrun him, and buy some time._

Angel holstered his guns, straightened his posture, and flapped his wings. Sure enough, it shot him higher than/ahead of Halo Knight. The "anti-gravity ring" the lunatic was holding seemed to make him just as fast as a person who was hit with one of them, but when Angel added his wings to the effect, he was faster. He'd only been spinning because he was struggling. Now that he was going with the flow, his "fall" was much more even, and it gave him a better view of his enemy. He could see that Halo Knight was awkward in the air. Angel had only been practicing flying for the last month, but this guy seemed even more like a rookie.

 _Finally, somebody that's less experienced than me. I've never heard of this guy-this could be his first fight. Well, this is my fourth, and it may not be much of an advantage, but I'll take it._

He went higher and higher, and Halo Knight continued to pursue him. Silver energy rings missed him by inches. It was getting colder, and the air was getting thinner, but that didn't bother Angel. His body hadn't just grown wings; it had also changed in other ways. In addition to the radically-improved eyesight, his lungs felt more powerful than ever, and he seemed to be resistant to the cold. Halo Knight's spaceman-looking suit might protect him from the frigid air, but what about breathing? He had to pass out eventually...

 _Don't get cocky, Warren. If Daredevil hadn't saved you, you wouldn't have survived those goons in the office building-and he isn't here to help you, right now. One "heavy-gravity ring" could cause you to fall to your death. If the lack of oxygen doesn't get him, you'll have to turn and fight him on your own. You might want to start thinking of a plan._

He'd never fought someone that could fly, before, and he honestly had no idea what to do. Luckily, circumstances intervened. Angel suddenly realized that he was slowing down. While it initially made him panic, it didn't take long for him to figure out what it meant: the anti-gravity effect was wearing off. In another minute or so, he'd have full control of his body, again. Halo Knight was still pursuing him, firing energy rings, and Angel put everything he had into an attempt at changing his course. He only altered it slightly-by a degree or two-but he could feel the anti-gravity weakening. Angel pushed, and pushed, and finally broke it, veering off to the side. He laughed.

At first, he just tried to stay away from Halo Knight. He banked hard to the left, dove, and then looped back up. Angel tried to remember the aerial combat movies he'd seen. All that stuff about dogfights, and getting behind the other plane. Then, he noticed that Halo Knight was struggling to keep up with him; his turns were loose and sloppy, and his attempt at looping hadn't gone so well.

 _I don't get dizzy when I fly-let's see if the same is true for him. Maybe I can make him throw up in his helmet._

Angel turned on a dime, veering at a hard right angle, and he made another loop. A third loop followed, which incorporated a lot of zigging and zagging. Halo Knight was right behind him, but he "spun out" in midair, losing control and spiraling away. He didn't fall, but it created more distance between them. Angel flew up at a forty-five-degree angle, made a tight turn, and then rocketed straight down. When Halo Knight tried to change direction just as suddenly, his momentum made it impossible. The guy was having trouble flying and shooting at the same time. He focused on the former, giving up on the latter, at least for the moment. Halo Knight tried to anticipate where he was going and cut him off, but Angel easily banked away from him.

 _Actually...no. Let him get close._

The next time that Halo Knight tried to cut him off, Angel made him think he had a chance to grab him, but he stopped short at the last second. And he'd drawn one of his weapons. As the silver-and-black man zipped by him (grabbing empty air), Angel shot him right in the face. It was a gas-filled sphere that resembled a ping-pong ball. The sphere hit the front of his helmet, and it exploded, but Halo Knight didn't react. In fact, he didn't so much as cough.

 _Come on! I tried the same thing the first time I saw him, and it didn't work then, either. I assumed that he just held his breath and vanished, but maybe not. Maybe that helmet filters out the gas. Or maybe it has oxygen in it, and that's why he isn't having trouble breathing up here._

This wasn't working. The high-altitude conditions weren't doing anything to him, and the aerial maneuvers didn't seem to be disorienting him all that much. Angel needed help.

Halo Knight once again started chasing him, and Angel resumed his loops and violent turns...but he was gradually working his way down. Closer to the city. Daredevil had been shot with a heavy-gravity ring, but it had probably worn off, by now. They needed to tag-team this clown.

Angel was really giving his wings a workout, and, from time to time, a few feathers would go flying. Halo Knight carefully lined up a shot, firing a gravity ring at him-it just barely brushed one of the loose feathers and immediately broke up, causing the feather to fall like a rock. Angel watched it happen. Apparently, if one of Halo Knight's gravity rings hit something solid, it would affect it and vanish...even if the object was small, even if it didn't hit it head-on.

The closer they got to Manhattan, the better Angel felt. Then, he hit a wind shear, and it slowed him down. Halo Knight surged forward and grabbed his ankle.

Angel's entire body convulsed in panic, and he tried to shake him loose. _HOLY-_

Halo Knight had a gravity ring in his other hand, which enabled him to fly, but he shot it at Angel, instead. Angel jerked away, and it missed. Halo Knight wasn't flying, now, he was just hitching a ride. He kept shooting, and Angel decided to give him the ride of his life.

Angel spun, looped, and generally played crack-the-whip. The energy rings became more infrequent and erratic-Halo Knight had to feel like he was handcuffed to a roller-coaster. Then, finally, he let go, plummeting until he formed another energy ring to hold onto. They were right over the city, now. Angel could actually see Daredevil on the rooftop.

 _Just a few more seconds, Warren. Get down there and let the actual superhero deal with this._

Angel glanced over his shoulder, checking for Halo Knight...he was maybe thirty feet behind him. But, when he looked at the rooftop again, Daredevil was gone.

He didn't have time to worry about it. Angel landed behind the little roof-access shed, using it for cover, and he drew his other weapon: the one with dense, rounded, non-lethal projectiles in it.

Halo Knight landed on the main part of the rooftop. He fired a single ring at the shed, and it yanked itself off of the roof and flew into the sky. Angel was completely exposed.

"You're not him," Halo Knight was saying, nearly breathless. "You aren't the light. There's light and darkness, and if the light kills the darkness, this horrible world will be over, and we'll all be okay. But you aren't-"

There was a metallic whipping noise, and a wire-thin cord suddenly wrapped around Halo Knight's torso. One of his arms was down at his side, and it was pinned to his body; he was using the other one to point at Angel, so it wasn't caught. Daredevil leapt out of nowhere, roaring.


	10. Issue 2, Chapter 2

In the moment before he attacked, Daredevil had crouched in the shadows, making sure that the gravity effect had fully worn off. He used the time to study his opponent.

The "Halo Knight" had a uniform that was made of a strange type of fabric: it sounded and smelled like nothing Daredevil had ever encountered. He felt protective padding underneath it, and his helmet was even harder. There was a thin indentation that was probably a visor. The helmet had some sort of oxygen filter in it, and he could hear other electrical components, as well. As for the young man inside...his lungs were straining, his stomach was roiling, and his heart was pounding. Daredevil didn't know what had happened up there, but the kid with wings had really put him through his paces.

 _My turn._

Daredevil flipped to a crouching position, exploded out of his stance, and gave him a full-strength uppercut with his billy club. He felt the impact all the way to his shoulder. Whatever the helmet was made of, it was tough, and his billy club hadn't even dented it. Halo Knight took a shaky step backwards, however. Daredevil kicked him in the stomach, hit him in the side of the neck with his billy club, and then ducked an attack. While he was down low, he tried a sweep-kick. It knocked Halo Knight's legs out from under him.

Halo Knight almost fell-Daredevil was hoping to pin him face-first against the roof-but he suddenly grabbed some invisible object, dangling from it. With his opponent momentarily defenseless (he only had one free arm to work with), Daredevil battered his ribs with his fist and billy club. But Halo Knight managed to get back on his feet. Then, the invisible object came flying at him, followed by more, and Daredevil was too anchored to engage in his usual acrobatics. He was holding the billy club, and its grappling cord was wrapped around Halo Knight's torso. Letting go would be giving up the advantage. Instead, he dropped back and avoided the attacks the way that a boxer would, ducking and weaving.

He assumed that Halo Knight had some sort of gravity-based ability. It had crushed him against the rooftop and sent the kid flailing into the air, and it seemed to enable him to fly. Unfortunately, his radar sense went right through the energy that Halo Knight created, and it didn't give off any heat. It did, however, make a barely-perceptible sound, one that even he had to strain to hear. He couldn't see his attacks, but he could hear them. The lack of loudness was a nice change of pace. With his super-hearing, gunfire sounded like atomic explosions, and it gave him a headache after a while.

The kid tried to get behind Halo Knight, but the flurry of energy attacks made him back off. Daredevil waved him away. If the kid got too close, and Halo Knight saw him and turned around, he'd be on the wrong end of a point-blank attack.

Daredevil circled Halo Knight from right to left: every time he made a lap, he wrapped a little more cord around him. If he went the other way, he'd be inadvertently untying him. Halo Knight's attention was divided. He was trying to get himself untied, but he was also trying to shoot Daredevil. Neither were going particularly well for him. He must have realized that, because he gave up trying to shoot him, and started to hover, instead.

 _Uh-oh._

Daredevil clutched his billy club with both hands, getting ready to take a ride, but the kid buzzed over him, forcing him back down. While Halo Knight was distracted, Daredevil ducked/lunged close and aimed a kick at his knee. Unfortunately, Halo Knight started to take off, again, and it hit his lower leg, instead. It jostled him, and he flew crookedly, trying to get away from both of them. Daredevil yanked on his billy club in an attempt to pull him back, but it was like lassoing a rock. That energy really kept him in the air.

 _He's moving his free arm around like crazy...unless you're as fast as Spider-Man, you'll never pin it against him. You'd need impossibly-good timing. No, go for his legs, instead._

Daredevil started to make another lap around him, but Halo Knight had caught on. Instead of chasing him with energy attacks, he shot in the direction that Daredevil was trying to go, cutting him off. With the right-to-left route ruled out, he tried left-to-right. Daredevil threw his billy club left (and low), and since it was connected to Halo Knight, it swung in a circle, like one of those balls that are tied to vertical poles. He simultaneously did a series of flips and headed right. While Halo Knight wasted time trying to shoot him, the billy club's cord wrapped around his ankles a few times, and Daredevil eventually caught it. Halo Knight once again had to grip the energy to keep from falling; he heard the winged kid say "Wow."

Halo Knight seemed to be helpless. His ankles were tied together, one arm was pinned to him...if he used his free arm to shoot energy at them, nothing would be holding him up, and he'd fall flat on his face.

The winged kid landed, aiming both guns at Halo Knight. "Hey, great, you got him!"

"It's over," Daredevil said to Halo Knight. "You're going to an insane asy-"

Halo Knight shot the billy club's cord with the energy he'd been holding, and, before he could fall, he created more energy and lifted himself off of the rooftop. Both the billy club and its cord became incredibly heavy. It fell, while he yanked himself loose and floated over the rooftop. Both of his arms were now free. He tried to shoot at Daredevil, but the kid shot him in the back with some type of non-lethal ammo, and it threw off his aim.

The kid and Halo Knight were both in the air, but Halo Knight was focused on Daredevil. He launched a barrage of energy at him. But Daredevil wasn't connected to him, now, which made it easier for him to evade his attacks. He flipped and rolled and spun in the air. The kid was shooting at Halo Knight, but his suit was padded, and the dense objects weren't doing much damage.

"You're just confused," Halo Knight said to the kid. "You can still be the light! Come on, think of all the people that are suffering...they're sick, or miserable, or both...you can end their pain!"

He was floating too high; Daredevil couldn't reach him. And his billy club was pinned to the rooftop. There was a chimney nearby, and he thought about climbing it and using it as a platform to jump off of, but it wasn't tall enough. Daredevil cursed under his breath, continuing to dodge Halo Knight's attacks.

"The ritual will work! To hundreds of millions of people, angels represent good, and the devil represents evil. If you kill him, it'll trigger something powerful. I know it. They aren't meaningless costumes-you really _do_ have wings, and people really _are_ terrified of him. All the religions and mythologies out there, all the stories about light and darkness, one of them will _have_ to be triggered by this. This planet is probably swimming in magic. We already know about Thor and his people, and-"

"SHUT UP!" The kid shot Halo Knight in the face, and Daredevil could hear his helmet reverberate. The speaker in his helmet became too distorted to understand.

Halo Knight seemed to be gripped by indecision; he looked back and forth between Daredevil and the kid. Daredevil was thinking about what Halo Knight had just said. He lived a logical, street-level life, but he was also Catholic, and he knew that there were cosmic mysteries out there. He'd also "seen" Stick do things that should have been impossible. And some of the stories that Stick had told him, about immortal ninja warriors and ancient cults that could bring back the dead...

"FALSE! FALSE LIGHT!" Halo Knight switched his attention to the kid, firing energy at him. His aim was improving by the second. Daredevil shouted at the kid, pointed at a neighboring rooftop, and ran toward it, waving him along. The kid got it and followed.

Daredevil knew that Halo Knight was firing some sort of energy bursts, and not a continuous stream, because he heard multiple sounds at once. The sound was coming from concentrated areas, so they couldn't have been very big. Also, when Halo Knight was flying, he could only shoot from one hand (Daredevil could hear the energy being generated), and that helped. But, as long as he was stuck down here, he couldn't do much to help.

The next rooftop over had a taller chimney. Daredevil leapt across the gap, quickly scaled the chimney, and watched as the kid led Halo Knight closer (and lower). The kid was smart; he immediately figured out what he wanted. Halo Knight, on the other hand, was furious and distraught. His vitals had been erratic ever since the kid had refused to play his role. When Halo Knight passed over, Daredevil took a one-step "running start" (the chimney wasn't exactly wide), leapt, and caught his foot. He swung his entire body up, wrapping his legs around Halo Knight's torso.

Halo Knight panicked, and tried to shake him off, but Daredevil was locked on tight. Using his legs to grip him, he pulled himself higher. Daredevil was on his back, now, and he grabbed at his helmet, trying to rip it off. A good series of head-shots could end this. But the helmet was really attached, and it wouldn't come off. He dug his fingers underneath, trying to find a better place to grab it, but it seemed to be sealed to the suit. There weren't any gaps.

Suddenly, the kid was flying alongside him, pointing. Daredevil knew that they were about to crash into a taller building. It was right up against the rooftop they were on, overshadowing it. When Halo Knight saw it, he tried to pull up, only for the kid to once again buzz over him, forcing him back down. When he tried to veer to the side, the kid literally flew circles around him. In the end, Halo Knight couldn't avoid it, and Daredevil leapt off at the last moment. Halo Knight cracked against the building, and then he dangled in midair. Normally, when he gripped that energy and flew, his body seemed to be buoyant. He wasn't just hanging limply from it. But, at the moment, he was dazed, and he was swinging back and forth like a piñata. The kid swooped in and kicked him with both feet, smacking him into the building once again.

"I think we beat him," the kid said, shouting down to him.

"Keep your distance!"

Out of nowhere, Halo Knight speedily lowered himself to the rooftop, leaned against the lower part of the building he'd hit, and opened fire with both hands.

Daredevil tumbled and sprang around, but the kid got a little too aggressive. He was angling to attack him again. The kid was still alive, so he must have avoided a lot of shots when they were flying around, earlier...but this wasn't high-speed, high-altitude stuff. They were slower and closer, now. And his wings made him a big target. Predictably, one of Halo Knight's shots clipped him, and he collapsed onto the rooftop.

 _Help him, Matt._

Daredevil charged, leapt onto his hands, sprung off of them, and landed a few feet away from Halo Knight. He came down right next to an old board, just as he'd intended. It was covered with dust and cobwebs. While Halo Knight watched his fists ("Typical Western thinking," Stick would have said), he slipped a foot underneath the board and kicked it at him. It hit him right in the face, and while the helmet kept it from hurting him, it smeared his visor with dust and cobwebs. He'd be blinded until he cleared his visor.

Halo Knight panicked and strafed energy everywhere, but he was using one of his hands to grab at his helmet, so he was only firing at half-strength. Daredevil danced past his attacks and unloaded on him. He high-kicked him in the side of the neck (where he'd hit him earlier), elbowed him between his shoulder blades (there was a joint in the padding there), and gave him a spinning flip-kick under his jaw (his boots were steel-toed, but it still hurt to hit the helmet like that). Daredevil then snatched the board off of the ground and hit Halo Knight across his knees.

Halo Knight's entire body wobbled, and he gripped energy to keep himself upright. Daredevil went after him, but Halo Knight backed off, and he was unsurprised when he flew away.

"You okay, kid? Can you chase him?"

"Umm, I don't..." The kid managed to get up-it had only been a partial hit-but his body seemed slow and heavy. When he tried to fly, he only got a few inches off of the rooftop.

A crowd had gathered below. The police had arrived down the street, where the robbers were, and Halo Knight's energy must have created a lightshow, because they were pointing up at the roof. There were woken-up civilians, as well.

"We need to get out of here. I want you to climb down that fire escape, go through the alley, and wait for me. I'll grab my billy club and meet you down there. But, once we're clear, we're going to have a talk."


	11. Issue 2, Chapter 3

Angel held his breath, waiting for him to ask the obvious questions. "How old are you?" Or, since Daredevil was such a good fighter himself, "How much combat training do you have?" Angel was ready to lie to save face, but he didn't have to. Daredevil just stood there and looked at him. The moon periodically vanished behind cloud-cover, and, in those moments, Angel could only see the opaque red lenses in his mask. They must have been like those trick mirrors, or else he wouldn't have been able to see through them.

While Daredevil went and retrieved his billy club, Angel had gathered up the ammo he'd shot (he was low, and that lunatic could come back at any second), awkwardly made his way down the fire escape (his wings barely fit), and glided down to the alley. He felt numb, which was a lot better than terrified. Daredevil had been waiting for him, and they'd walked through the alley, eventually picking another rooftop to use. By the time they got there, Angel's body was back to normal. He flew up to it, positive that he'd beat Daredevil, but Daredevil got there a few seconds ahead of him.

Angel was the one that finally broke the silence. "So...that guy's crazy, right?"

Daredevil didn't say anything.

"I mean-all that stuff about 'light and dark'-I'm just assuming, uh..."

"It was 'light and darkness,' " Daredevil said, correcting him. "Details matter."

"But he's still wrong, right? There's nothing magic about us. If-if I killed you for some reason, nothing would actually happen."

"He said that he didn't care what we were. Human beings, an angel and a demon...he seemed to think we were 'close enough' to trigger some sort of apocalypse. Halo Knight is playing Russian roulette with the entire planet. He's betting that some of the religions and mythologies are real, and that one of them will have vague, loosely-defined conditions that can be met by the two of us."

"And that's crazy."

"In a world that has people like Thor in it, I'm not so sure. I don't know anything about magic, and I don't think that you do, either. So we need to be careful. Unless you plan on killing me, though, it doesn't matter. All that matters is stopping him."

"No, of course I wouldn't-" Angel was so flustered that he couldn't get all of the words out.

"His abilities and his gear seemed scientific, to me. Not magic. The helmet, the suit, the gravity powers."

"Yeah, he looked like some crazy spaceman." A sudden realization hit him, and he added, "God, for all we know, he might not be human at all. He could be an alien or a robot or something."

"No, he's human. He isn't much older than you."

"Hey, wait, how do you kn-"

Ignoring him and interrupting him: "He talked about knowing powerful men...men that are building our future. Maybe he's connected to the space program, somehow."

"That'd make sense."

"If that's the case, then we could have more problems than just him. The Russians would kill to get their hands on someone like that. And if he worked for the government, they'll probably be looking for him."

"...wait, isn't that good, though? Shouldn't we just let them deal with it?"

"They aren't equipped to deal with something like this-we are."

 _Yeah, speak for yourself, buddy._

"The good news is, he's only obsessed with us. He doesn't seem to care about the civilian population."

"Oh, yeah, that's 'good' news."

Daredevil glared at him. "We can take the heat better than they can, kid. If he wanted to kill random people, he could strike anywhere, and it'd be almost impossible to stop him. But if he's only after us, it makes him more predictable."

Now that Angel knew that Daredevil was a human being-and not some sort of monster-he was honestly surprised. Hell's Kitchen was blue-collar at best, and he assumed that Daredevil was from there, since no one else would care enough to help it. Angel had expected him to sound rough and tough, like the Thing. But he seemed very intelligent and analytical. _That's your stuck-up nature talking, Warren. Yeah, not everybody has been to the same fancy schools that you have, but that doesn't mean that they're dumb._

"We need to get that helmet off of him," Angel said. "Then I could gas him, or you could...you know..."

"Agreed. But it's going to take both of us to stop him-I can't fly, and you can't fight."

"I can sort of fight," Angel muttered.

"The problem is, he'll only get better," Daredevil said. "He isn't a very good shot...and he isn't good in the air, compared to you. I'm thinking that it was the first time he used his powers in a fight. But he has a little experience, now."

"Yeah, and on top of that, he was flipping his lid. When he was making his little speech, he seemed sort of calm. It was like he had this story in his head...but, when I wouldn't play my role, he lost it. That probably threw off his fighting, too. He'll be just as crazy, next time, but I bet he'll be more focused."

"That's a good point. The name he gave himself, 'Halo Knight'-he definitely thought that you'd be the hero, and he'd just be the helper."

"Well, that, and he shoots those energy rings. They sort of look like halos."

"...right, of course."

"So, uh, what do you think his next move will be? I mean, now that he knows I won't help him?"

"There's no way to know. Maybe he'll try to change your mind, or maybe he'll just attack both of us, again."

"What's _our_ next move?"

"For now, we take his targets away from him. We go home, live our lives, and meet up tomorrow night. Right here. If he's on the run from the government, he won't want to be out during the daytime. We'll look for him, he'll look for us, and we'll probably run into each other. But we should also try to find out more about him. If your 'secret identity' has any connections or resources, use them, but don't put yourself at risk. We can pool our information tomorrow night."

"...isn't that kind of a short-term solution, though? What if he gets impatient and he tries to draw us out? If we have to go straight after him, we won't have time to meet up first."

"If that happens, just try to keep him occupied until I get there," Daredevil said.

Angel nodded. "It's weird, he seemed so hopeless. He was talking about humanity, and how we can't save ourselves, and we just need to admit it. How could anyone be that hopeless _now_? There are more new superheroes all the time, we're getting closer to landing on the moon, society is starting to change for the better..."

"We can ask him that after we take him down."

"Hey, have you ever fought someone like him, before? Someone with powers?"

"Only you," Daredevil said.

"Great. The blind leading the blind," Angel muttered.

The vigilante cocked his head.

Daredevil turned to leave, and Angel realized that he hadn't even told him his name. "If you're wondering, I'm the Avenging Angel, by the way. That's my...codename, I guess?"

"Well, it's good to meet you, Angel." Daredevil shook his hand. After that, Daredevil hesitated, and he said, "Cards on the table: are your powers magic in nature? If they are, and if he isn't just guessing, but he actually knows something about magic-"

 _Yeah, this is gonna be embarrassing._ "I don't know where my powers came from. I mean, they just showed up one day. How'd you get yours?" Given some of the crazy stunts that Daredevil had pulled off, Angel assumed that he had some sort of special physical abilities.

"I got them because of an accident."

"Oh, okay. Well...I think...I, uh, I think I might be a mutant."

As soon as Angel said that, he braced himself. He half-expected Daredevil to recoil in disgust, call him a freak, and haul him off to jail.

Daredevil looked genuinely surprised. "Wait, are you kidding me? I thought that mutants were just some fringe conspiracy theory. A rumor that's passed around, like the government putting mind-control drugs in the drinking water."

"Hey, until a few months ago, I thought that _you_ were just a rumor."

Daredevil didn't say anything else about him being a mutant, and Angel had never felt so relieved in his life. He didn't care! Angel had finally taken the risk of telling someone, and, amazingly, he'd picked the right person on his first try.


	12. Issue 2, Chapter 4

Halo Knight wanted to sleep, but the memories wouldn't let him. They hit him like a tidal wave, making him feel like he was drowning in his own brain, and they actually blocked out the world around him.

His memories were about the light and the darkness. The light was a flying, golden-haired man in a yellow suit and a blue cape, and the darkness was a shadowy, enigmatic creature. Once, Paul had seen them with his own eyes, when his keepers let him take a trip down to the city. That had been the very first memory to return. His current avalanche of memories involved secondhand information, but it was all new. He suddenly recalled instances when he'd heard about the two of them on the radio, read about them in the paper, and listened to conversations about them. The military scientists had loved to talk about them...but they didn't remember them, anymore. No one did.

The light had saved individuals, ships, trains, and even airplanes. The darkness had terrorized the city, changing his form as necessary. There were other people associated with the light, other faces, but they were blurry in Paul's mind. Allies and enemies, probably. He did, however, remember a certain building, but he couldn't quite place it. It was definitely in New York, though.

Was he seeing a forgotten past or a jumbled future? Why did the light and darkness look so different in his head?

Paul Battaglia suddenly realized that he was leaning against a grimy, filthy wall, and he pushed himself back to a standing position. The mental onslaught was fading. His memories were breaking up like morning fog, with the real world visible behind them.

 _No, don't think like that...these memories are part of the real world, too. They have to be._

After the fight, he'd flown away as fast as he could, eventually taking shelter in a condemned building. The place was dark and almost completely silent, except for the rats and dripping water. He'd sat on an empty crate for most of the night. Paul stumbled back to that crate now, nearly collapsing on it. His entire body ached. The suit was rugged and protective-it had been designed for fighting Russians in space-but he was sure that he was covered with bruises. Daredevil hit _hard_. He was like one of those "karate" guys they showed on TV, the ones that could shatter brick with their bare hands. But Paul was no stranger to pain. When he first started using his powers, he'd experienced intense physical pain, particularly in his hands. It gradually went away as his body adapted to his abilities. Years later, the scientists told him that he'd developed a "high threshold" for pain.

Paul took off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. It had become sweat-soaked during the fight, and it felt like it had dried funny; he probably looked like a porcupine, now. Not that he cared about anything that trivial. Paul's heart was still pounding, and he felt like the walls were closing in on him. The fight had something to do with that, of course, but it wasn't the main reason. Paul had no idea what to do next, and he was terrified.

It reminded him of when his body had first started changing. He'd gotten incredibly sick, and his parents had dragged him to doctor after doctor, trying to figure out what was going on. Paul still remembered that feeling...the creeping suspicion that his entire world was falling down around him. One of his recurring thoughts had been "This isn't supposed to happen." He'd only been thirteen; young people were supposed to be healthy. Paul had told himself that, if he made it through this, the worst of it would be over. The rest of his life would seem much better in comparison. And for a while, that seemed to be true. But here he was again: the light had betrayed him, teaming up with the darkness, and that _definitely_ wasn't supposed to happen.

His experience with Angel and Daredevil went against everything he knew to be true. He'd seen the pattern a hundred times over, in religions and mythologies from all over the planet...but, for some reason, they'd broken it. The light was supposed to defeat the darkness, and the world would be replaced by something better. Paul had thought that his job was to help that process along. Instead, the process had...malfunctioned or something, and now everyone was off-script.

Paul held his helmet, staring at it. _Something's wrong. You have to figure out what's going on, so Halo Knight can fix things._

The memories had sparked all of this. He'd been experiencing them for less than two months, but they'd radically changed him. One day, the scientists had really been pushing him-they wanted to use his gravity rings in space vehicles, because they'd be much more effective and compact than chemical rockets-and he'd been hit by his first vision of the light and the darkness. It almost made him pass out. They told him that it was just an "exertion-induced hallucination," but it kept happening. He figured that hallucinations were like dreams, random and chaotic; what he'd seen was consistent and orderly. It was always the same hero and villain. His memories were detailed, and the details stayed consistent with each other. There weren't any contradictions.

Paul continued to experience the memories, but he didn't talk about them unless someone asked. He didn't want them to think he was crazy. The scientists told him that gravity could affect the human brain, and that some mutants had mental powers, so maybe this was connected to his abilities. A few CIA people started hanging around; they seemed extremely interested in what he could see. That was probably the only reason they didn't shoot him full of drugs and put him in a padded room.

He started to think of them as light and darkness: not just because one was good and one was evil, but because the yellow-and-blue man had light-based powers, while his adversary was literal darkness, this sort of man-shaped hole in the universe. It reminded him of the books he'd read when he was younger. When you're a sick, possibly-dying teenager, you're going to be both morose and curious...he wanted to know about death and the afterlife. One of his doctors had given him a bunch of books on the subject. He'd been stuck in bed, so he'd had plenty of time to read. Since the books were about the afterlife, they usually covered end-of-the-world situations, as well. People would die normally for most of history, and everyone alive at the end would pass to the next plane at once. Paul remembered the near-universal patterns in all these beliefs. At the end, a dark evil would rise, the forces of light would defeat it, and mankind would be ushered to some cosmic realm.

A darkly funny thought had struck him. If these beings were real, and if some of the mythologies and religions were real, what if the two of them accidentally triggered the end of the world? Most of the old prophecies were vague and mysterious. A light being defeating a darkness being...what if that was close enough to get the job done?

Paul had gone from one extreme to another-he'd spent years as a hospitalized teenager, miserable and missing out on his life, only to end up in the optimistic, ambitious space program. As much as he loved all the gadgets and exploration, part of him was still hung up on what he'd gone through. A dangerous question started to form in his mind. Namely, would it really be so bad if the world ended?

Throughout history, people kept trying to change things, but it was usually one step forward and two steps back. Paul had thought about government and society. Their solutions were short-term at best...but what if a long-term solution was available? And what if he was the only person that realized it? Now that Russia had the bomb, World War 3 could be on the horizon, so the world might be ending, anyway. Why not just give up now and avoid the whole thing? Part of him felt ashamed to even think it; the country had always had a can-do, never-say-die spirit, and his current line of thinking was defeatist. If America was a religion, then this was definitely heresy.

Paul watched as the space program developed. As great as it was, what could it possibly do for a new mutant in his situation? Instead of being an outcast on Earth, the mutant would be an outcast on the moon, instead. It wouldn't really change anything. Not for mutants, and not for anybody else, either. People were people, regardless of where they happened to live. They'd have the same problems that humanity had always had.

The adults liked to shrug and say "That's life"-but why did they have to be alive? Especially when almost everyone agreed that something better was waiting for them on the other side?

At that point, Paul's life had divided into two halves. An alpha and an omega. There was the New Frontier, JFK and rockets and social change, a fresh beginning for America. And there was this idea of an apocalypse, something that would sweep everything away, end humanity's struggles, and finally let them rest. As he continued to remember the light's never-ending battle against the darkness, the latter felt like a better idea than the former.

And then the devil started running around Hell's Kitchen.

There'd been rumblings about him for a few months, but Paul assumed that it was just a story, like the albino alligators in New York City's sewers. Nobody could agree on what he was. A vigilante, a ghost, the devil himself. Then, credible witnesses started to come forward. The city's kids-who were famous for sneaking out after dark, so they could keep playing-had seen him in action a few times. He must have pulled off some amazing feats, because the kids started calling him Daredevil. Someone managed to take a blurry color photograph of him. He was a yellow and black monster, with shimmering red eyes.

Paul was intrigued by this new figure...he didn't quite look like the darkness that he remembered, but one of the guards said that he used to wear all-black. And that monster _was_ capable of changing forms. Still, he wrote it off as a coincidence. Then, less than a week ago, a winged man was sighted in Manhattan. One witness claimed that he had blond hair-just like the yellow-and-blue man in his memories.

An angel and a devil, appearing in the same city within two months of each other. He was the only person that remembered the light and the darkness. And his gravity rings sort of looked like halos, didn't they? Paul decided that it was all one giant sign. A sign from the universe, reality itself, as opposed to any gods. That was when he'd decided to escape, so he could put his plan into action. He'd been so certain...and now, just a short time later, he didn't know if he was sure about any of it.

Paul's neck was killing him. He stood up, stretched, and walked around a little. The windows were mostly boarded up, but there was still enough light to see by. Besides, if he really needed to, he could make his own light, anyway. His injuries were feeling worse, not better, but that was probably his body waking back up. He was tired and hungry. Not cold, though-the suit had been designed for a place much colder than this.

He'd left his helmet on the crate. When he glanced back at it, he briefly felt like it was watching him...

Paul risked a quick peek through one of the windows. Outside, it was morning, and life was going on without him. _Geez, look at them. They're all insane._ That was the sort of thing that crazy people thought, but in this case, it was actually true. It was one of the things that he _was_ sure about. Paul didn't know exactly how long their species had been around, but they'd been living the same day over and over, since the very beginning. Why couldn't they see that? "Humanity tries to fix things, humanity mostly fails, rinse and repeat." It was time for a different kind of day. Instead of trying to solve all of their problems, they needed to just admit it was impossible and end the whole thing.

When he'd been in the hospital, he'd seen how destructive that kind of thinking could be: he still remembered the other deathly-ill patients, the ones whose lives were made worse by the doctors' constant attempts to "save" them. They should have just let them go. Human beings didn't like to give up, men in particular. They'd been raised to be tough and fearless. But Paul was part of a new generation-the Children of the Atom-and he'd moved past the old kind of thinking.

 _They're all the same. The doctors, the scientists, the politicians, the generals...even the superheroes. They all think that they can solve everything. Every previous generation thought that, too. I can't believe there isn't a word for that. There must be, though, right? It's like it's right on the tip of my tongue._

Paul shook himself out of it-he didn't need to be thinking about that, right now. There were questions that he needed to answer. If Angel was the yellow-and-blue man (maybe they were more visions than memories, which was why he'd gotten some of the details wrong), why had he turned on him? And why was the darkness pretending to be a superhero?

The old stories were full of betrayals and rebellions...Lucifer trying to conquer Heaven, wars between the gods, things like that. Maybe Angel was supposed to be the light, but he'd chosen not to do his job for some reason. The being posing as "Daredevil" could have bribed him. It had to be something crazy like that, because light and darkness weren't supposed to work together. No, no, that just wasn't natur-

-Paul suddenly remembered his mother dragging him to a hospital chapel, back before she found out he was a mutant (and killed herself). His mystery-illness had been getting worse, and he'd started asking questions about death and the afterlife, but she didn't seem to know much about it. The priest's answers hadn't been that good, either. She still made him go for a few Sundays. And one time, the priest had said something like "What fellowship can light have with darkness?"

For a split-second, Paul thought that he'd found the source of this whole idea, and he was convinced that he was crazy. But he knew that the memories were real, and some of this stuff couldn't possibly be a coincidence.

 _No, no, no. It's like you said: Angel is a false light. Come on, some of these questions answer each other. Why doesn't Angel look like the yellow-and-blue man or have his light powers? Why did he help the darkness? Well, it's because he isn't the true light. The yellow-and-blue man is someone else. Someone that's, uh..._

The helmet still seemed to be staring at him. Paul suddenly felt the urge to form a gravity ring, and when he did, he stared at the silver light it created.

 _It's you, Paul. You have to be the light._

The idea made him laugh-he wasn't capable of being any kind of hero, let alone taking on some ultimate force of darkness. Besides, he was scrawny, pale, and dark-haired, while the yellow-and-blue man was the opposite of all those things. But the scientists had told him that gravity and light _were_ connected. Was he "remembering" a fuzzy, symbolic version of the future? Or maybe, since they felt so much like memories, he was getting his own past mixed up with a literal future, merging them together in his head. Was it possible that his powers would eventually turn him into the yellow-and-blue man?

 _Look at it like this: it's a force of nature, an inevitable process. Like having the wind at your back. Every culture agrees that the light defeats the darkness, so who are you to argue with that? Just play your role and let it happen._

Paul was (basically) human; he needed to sleep and heal a little more, and he'd have to go steal some food, as well. But, once he was ready? It would be time for Halo Knight to deal with the entity known as Daredevil. If Angel refused to kill him, he'd just have to do it himself.


	13. Issue 2, Chapter 5

Even his smiles were complicated.

When he was Matt Murdock, he didn't feel like smiling, but he made himself do it anyway. Clients needed reassuring, and law-enforcement needed to see that he was positive and confident. The law was something that he was completely serious about: when he saw cops and lawyers being cavalier about it, it really grated on him. He had to choke back his outrage and keep up a positive front. When he was Daredevil, though, he _wanted_ to smile, but he always fought the urge. Daredevil might have been born out of anger and guilt, but his more hands-on approach was incredibly satisfying. As much as he loved the law, it could be slow and frustrating; Daredevil could simply find the problematic person, grab them, and throw them down some stairs. But it wasn't right to enjoy that. The law was good, vigilantism was a necessary evil, and he tried to force his brain to think of them that way.

Matt was at New York's primary FBI field office. He was smiling, seemingly without a care in the world, content to just sit silently and wait for the person that he wanted to talk to.

If there was one thing that cops and federal agents loved to do, it was wasting defense attorneys' time. Even when they weren't trying to hide his clients from him-which they did often, beating on them while denying that they were even in custody-they still loved to stick him in the waiting area and let him sit around and wait. "Oh, you need to talk to this guy? Sure, sure, it'll be just a few minutes..." Early in his career, his blindness made him even more of a target for them. The cops and feds had snuck away and laughed about it, while the secretaries had felt badly for him; Matt had heard many behind-his-back conversations, over the years.

He didn't usually let them waste his time. Thanks to his enhanced senses, he knew if they were lying, or trying to hide something. Matt had terrified quite a few police officers and federal agents by mentioning the specific room that his latest client was in. "Oh, uh, I guess we actually do have him in custody, Mr. Murdock. Sorry about that." They were a little leery of him, now, and only the dumber cops tried to pull things on him. But they still made him wait. Matt was fine with that, today. He'd found a flimsy excuse to visit the New York field office, checked in with the receptionist, and cheerfully planted himself in a seat.

If the government was looking for Halo Knight, this was the perfect place for him to be. All he had to do was sit, wait, and listen.

The office stank. Matt was used to that, though. Most people smoked-New York was full of cigarette smoke and car exhaust-and Nelson & Murdock was probably the only smoke-free office in the city. He breathed through his mouth and listened to office chatter. This was one of the rare times that he was glad he was blind; he'd heard that this particular FBI office was extremely ugly.

Matt and Foggy had a client that was on the periphery of a major racketeering case: the man owned a small restaurant, and some mobsters had decided that they liked eating there. They hadn't been disruptive, they hadn't tried to extort him, and they hadn't told him which vendors or contractors to use. But they'd decided that they were "friends" with this man, and they "helped him out" from time to time. Once, when some money went missing, these men had decided to question a young black man who worked in the kitchen. (Matt thought that he was a great cook, and his sense of taste was extremely demanding.) He hadn't done it, but they'd brutally beaten him, and he hadn't been able to work for weeks. Another time, they'd thought that a Czech immigrant was a little too interested in the man's wife. The Czech man was never seen again. The restaurant owner hoped that they'd just scared him into leaving town, but...

It was common to hear about the mob "making an example out of someone." In some ways, this was the mirror image-the mobsters helped out this restaurant owner, never asking for anything in return, and it made other businessmen think that they were reasonable men. It would be safe to ask them for a favor, right?

Luckily, the mobsters ran into some problems, and they didn't have as much time for their favorite restaurant. The feds had built a major case against them. Many of them were arrested, and some of them actually flipped, which was something that never used to happen. They'd encountered someone that scared them even more than their bosses. The feds had interviewed the restaurant owner, and while he didn't know enough to be a major witness (or to be in danger), the feds were sort of keeping him in reserve. He'd be a good "anti-character witness." If any of their evidence was thrown out, he just might be called up. Matt had been meaning to go over some details with the feds...it provided him with the perfect excuse to be there.

He hadn't heard much, so far. A lot of complaining about witnesses and evidence (or the lack thereof), various racial/ethnic slurs, and jokes about strip-searching the secretaries to make sure that they weren't actually the Chameleon. They'd also joked about making Matt wait, and his presence had started a conversation about mobsters. Many of the agents were glad that Daredevil was taking on organized crime. It brought it to the public's attention, and forced the Bureau to do more. They implied that Hoover (who was referred to in whispers as "Her Majesty") thought that college groups and black groups were more of a threat than actual armed criminals. Apparently, to him, the mob was business as usual, while this new social stuff was much more dangerous.

(Matt had listened to a number of law-enforcement conversations about both Matt Murdock and Daredevil, but he'd never heard anyone connect the two. He'd covered as many bases as he could. For instance, he'd stolen and burned the medical records that related to his accident. There was some unavoidable overlap between his two personas' activities-Hell's Kitchen was a small world-but he tried to keep them as far apart as possible.)

He sat there and eavesdropped, listening to anything that might be related to Halo Knight. But that wasn't all that he was doing. Since he was a lawyer, he kept going over Halo Knight's statements in his head, looking for the clues and meanings behind them. Matt was fifty-fifty on whether he was crazy or whether he was simply wrong and desperate.

 _You've fought greedy men, insane men, and outright evil men...but he could be something completely different. How do you fight someone that's driven by sheer hopelessness? That suit of his is sealed, so I couldn't smell him, but I don't think that he was afraid of me. He didn't act like it. Most people are afraid of death, the devil, things like that. But, if he meant what he said, Halo Knight is scared of...life, and how futile it can be. He's already broken, so there's nothing for me to break. That's just great. I turned myself into a monster, and I scare people like Karen, but not him._

And then there was the kid. He was obviously too young to be doing this, and he obviously didn't have any training. "Angel" must have read a few too many comic books when he was a kid: he seemed to think that any random millionaire could put on a mask and go fight crime. (The way he spoke, the way he smelled-his parents were definitely wealthy.) After the fight, when they'd been talking, Matt had been ready to scream at him. He was lucky to still be alive. But that was something that Stick would have done, and Matt had sworn to never be like him. An angry rant wouldn't accomplish anything. He'd been on the other end of plenty of those, from both Stick and his own father. Instead, he'd just listened, tried to stay calm, and laid things out for him.

The good news was that the kid was smart and resourceful. Matt didn't recall any newspaper stories with headlines like "local boy grows wings," which meant that he'd managed to keep them secret, and that was an accomplishment in and of itself. Most people would have been driven mad by an experience like that; he must have been strong-willed. He was also physically strong, and effective in the air. If they'd had a few months, Matt could have given him some basic combat training, though it wouldn't have been a perfect translation. His wings made certain things irrelevant, and they also opened up new possibilities. But, in all likelihood, they'd have to face Halo Knight again in the next day or so, which meant that he'd be paired up with a rookie.

 _What would you really have to teach him, Matt? There's more to this than just knowing how to fight. If the kid's right, and he's a mutant, his life could be radically different from yours. Remember the old "Mutant Menace" pamphlets that the fringe political guys used to pass around? How they were the Children of the Atom, bred for a post-atomic age, and that they were out to replace us? If those conspiracy theories become more popular, he'll have to deal with problems that you could never possibly understand._

Matt had always worked alone. No other heroes, and no cops, either. He didn't have any secret allies in law-enforcement. This was his personal mission-a dare he'd made to himself-and he didn't want to drag anyone else down with him. But he was responsible for the kid, now. And, even worse, he needed him. If Halo Knight flew above buildings, all Matt could do was stand there and watch. The kid was capable of fighting him in his own element. Halo Knight was the most powerful opponent that Matt had ever faced, and his one weakness-a lack of experience-would most likely be temporary. He'd be even more dangerous, next time. It would take both him and the kid to bring him down.

Whenever Matt was up against someone that was legitimately tough, he tended to go for their limbs. A broken arm or leg would hobble them and open them up to attack. If you wanted to break a person's arm, you first needed to grab their wrist or forearm. But, in this case, there would be energy coming out of his hand, and Matt would have to avoid it. Breaking his leg wasn't any easier. If he was floating, and not putting his weight on it, a kick to his knee wouldn't have the same effect.

 _From burglars and mobsters to a Space Age crusader that has far-out beliefs...yeah, welcome to the sixties, Matt._

Speaking of burglars: one of the goons he'd fought last night had claimed that there were a bunch of new feds running around the city. Matt hadn't heard the agents mention any ramped-up operations, so far. Normally, he would have written it off as a crook's overactive imagination (superheroes made them a little crazy), but this had been the ringleader, and he was a savvy enough criminal. Matt suspected that he could tell the difference between scuffed-shoe police detectives and well-dressed government agents. If that was the case, who could it be? Secret Service, CIA, Treasury, maybe military investigators of some sort? Matt hadn't noticed anyone like that while operating as Daredevil, so they must have been trying to avoid attention.

He listened, he thought about the possibility of government involvement, and he considered Halo Knight's statements...which included what Halo Knight had said about _him_.

"The darkness." That was what Halo Knight kept calling him, and Matt really hated it. He _did_ feel dark inside, and angry, and vengeful. But he'd never let himself become evil. His father and Stick had both ended up as bitter, burned-out men. Matt sometimes wondered what ten or fifteen years of this would do to his psyche.

An elevator went by, and it contained a familiar-sounding voice. Matt had never met him, but he'd heard him on TV and the radio, and he'd overheard him during past visits to the FBI. It was the man in charge of the NYC field office. His office was on the next floor up, and Matt heard him get off the elevator, walk across the floor, and field a variety of questions.

One of the questions: "Did you find anything out?"

His whispered response: "No, not here. In my office." Louder: "Nancy, hold my calls."

Matt sat up a little straighter.

The boss and the younger-sounding agent went into his office, closing the door.

"They're CIA," the boss said, sitting down.

"What, _all_ of them? All those men-in-black sightings? I thought CIA guys were lone wolves, why would-"

"Yeah, I know, I've never heard of anything like it. But my friend at the Agency assured me it's true. They've flooded our jurisdiction with operatives, and you'll never believe who they're after."

The younger agent laughed. "It's one of Tony Stark's girlfriends, isn't it? I _knew_ that one of them had to be a sleeper agent..."

"Not even close: they're hunting that freak that's been flying around. You know, the spaceman with the silver helmet."

"What? Why?"

"Well, for one thing, he's connected to the space program. And he's a mutant."

"Wh-are you k-no, come on, stop joking around."

"It's true. He's a mutant, and he was helping us somehow, but he went rogue and escaped."

 _Another mutant?_

"Oh, man, Fred's gonna go crazy. He lives for this mutant stuff."

"No, none of this leaves the room."

Matt heard confusion in the younger agent's voice. "If it's classified, how are we gonna help them find him?"

"This isn't an investigation. They're handling the search, and when they find him, they're taking him out. No witnesses, no loose ends."

 _That makes things a little more complicated._

"Here's what's happening," the boss said. "At some point today, the CIA will call Hoover, and tell him that we need to help them cover up an operation. One that hasn't happened yet. It'll involve a multi-party shootout, and our job will be to seal the site and run interference with the NYPD. By that point, it'll be over, and we need to claim that it involved two gangs of armed men. It'll actually just be one-a team of CIA hitters versus this powered target. But they won't tell us that. Knowing them, they'll make up something about commies. Anyway, you'll take point at the scene, and you'll be the one that scares off any curious cops. We'll gather up the evidence and ship it off for 'analysis'...but this particular lab is actually a CIA front. They'll destroy it or stick it in a warehouse or something."

"I can't believe Hoover would just go along with that," the younger agent said.

"When even Hoover isn't trying to play some angle, you know that it's terrifying, high-level stuff."

The younger agent had started pacing around the room, and Matt heard his clothing wrinkle as he made a flurry of gestures. "This is ridiculous! Don't get me wrong, I know that the Agency does stuff in the city. Surveillance, document handoffs, running assets. And some of the homicides that come across the wire, they sure sound like their style. But something like _this_? An entire kill-squad? God, come on, this isn't South America or Eastern Europe! They should just bring him in alive."

"No, he knows too much, so they're afraid of losing him to the Russkies. And they don't think they can hold him, anymore."

Matt didn't like this. Sometimes, police officers and armed civilians would get attacked by criminals, and Daredevil would help them...but he wouldn't yank the guns out of their hands to prevent them from killing their attackers. He held himself to that standard, not others. They had a right to self-defense. This was different, though. If he and the kid managed to beat Halo Knight, what would they do with him, afterwards? Hand him over to have his throat slit?

The younger agent: "So, why did he go off the reservation, exactly?"

"Officially? He was training to be an astronaut, and an 'isolation test' broke him. Unofficially? His powers are affecting his brain, and making him hallucinate. At first, they thought he could see the future, and the Agency got pretty excited. He has these 'memories' of things that never happened. Light versus darkness, super-people that don't actually exist. But, apparently, he's just crazy."

"I don't get it," the younger agent said. "I mean, if there was even a one percent chance that he could see the future, wouldn't the Agency take a flier on him? I know I would."

Matt felt (and smelled) cold sweat bubbling on his neck...he recalled one of Halo Knight's statements, about how he'd "seen" Matt attacking Angel over and over again. Matt was pretty sure that they wouldn't be getting into another fight, but Halo Knight had showed up at the exact moment that they _had_ fought. Was it just lucky timing? Also, from the sound of it, he'd been talking about "light versus darkness" for a while, and the public had only found out about a certain winged man a few days ago. That was a creepy coincidence, to say the least. Matt flashed back to all the years he'd spent in Catholic school. From what he remembered, visions were notoriously hard to decipher. Could Halo Knight actually be sane? He already had one proven ability, so why not two? Maybe some of it had just gotten lost in translation. But, if that were true, and he was right about Matt being "darkness"...

 _Calm down, Matt. It's probably nothing. And, come on, it's kind of funny. A blind man worrying about someone else's 'visions.'_

The younger agent's heart was speeding up, and his breathing mirrored it. He was trying to work up the nerve to say something.

"So...if one of our people sees this guy...I'm assuming that we're supposed to keep our distance and call the Agency."

"Yeah, that's right," the boss said.

"I think we should try to grab him," the younger agent blurted out.

Silence.

"Just hear me out, okay? With all the bad blood between the Kennedys and the Agency, we should be cleaning up, right? We should be taking advantage of that. But, as long as Her M-as long as _Hoover_ is in charge, we can't, because he doesn't get along with the Kennedys, either. This is our chance to earn some goodwill. If we caught this guy, it'd look like we were cleaning up the Agency's mess. And, come on, why just kill him? It'd make more sense to keep him drugged and harmless. You know, scan his brain waves or whatever they are, and see what's really going on in there. Who's to say he _can't_ predict the future? There's a guy with a magic hammer out there, and a former TV star who's swinging around on webs."

The boss didn't say anything for about ten or fifteen seconds. Then, finally, he said, "Technically, the CIA is only supposed to have jurisdiction over foreign-born mutants, while we have the domestic ones. And my contact told me that he's American. So, yes, it should be our case."

The younger agent was clearly on the edge of his seat; so was Matt, who was trying to act calm and bored (he was sitting in a waiting room, after all). This could be the perfect solution. If the FBI would take Halo Knight once he and the kid captured him, they wouldn't be handing him over to be killed in cold blood. But all he could do was sit and listen and hope.

"This Daredevil stuff _has_ helped to thaw things out with the Administration," the boss said thoughtfully. "He's gone after the mob, so we had to follow suit, and Bobby loved it. If we could replicate that success with this mutie, I wouldn't complain. But I need to think about it. Hoover would explode, and even a big win wouldn't completely protect us from him."

"Hoover is an old man. A few more years, and he'll be done. How many more Kennedy presidencies do you think we'll have? Another one for Jack, maybe two for Bobby? We need to keep getting on their good side."

"I can't argue with that, but we can't rush in half-cocked, either. I need time to think this through."

As strange as it sounded, Daredevil and Matt Murdock were getting their wires crossed. As Daredevil, he took situations into his own hands, relying only on himself. If something needed to be done, he did it. But Matt Murdock was forced to rely on the system. He could do a great job, but if the cops, judges, witnesses, and other lawyers didn't do theirs, it was all for naught. This time was different, though. Daredevil needed these men to step up to the plate and help him out. Matt loved how independent and free Daredevil was, so it really annoyed him, having to hope that someone else did their part.

He was also frustrated by his lack of options. Ideally, if they managed to capture Halo Knight, he should be given a fair trial. Matt would have even volunteered to defend him. But, given how top-secret all of this was, they'd never let him get that close to the spotlight. He didn't like the idea of Halo Knight being detained indefinitely and studied, but it was better than letting the CIA assassinate him. The young man under the helmet could be mentally unstable; he might not be responsible for his actions.

Since he couldn't see, Matt was constantly on the receiving end of jokes about justice being blind, a pattern that had started on his very first day of law school. That famous statue had a blindfold, but it also had a pair of scales. Matt's life was all about balance. His role in the system versus his role as a vigilante, sacrificing for Hell's Kitchen versus having his own life. He found himself trying to find the perfect balance-point in this new situation. Matt thought about Halo Knight, the kid, and the government. If he just kept looking, he'd eventually find the right balance.


	14. Issue 2, Chapter 6

At first, it had seemed like a nightmare that was inside of a dream: the Worthingtons were living a charmed life, and then Warren's abilities had manifested, threatening to ruin it all. If the public found out the truth, his family would be shamed and driven out of society. Warren Worthington III had felt guilty, self-conscious, and terrified. Naturally, he'd kept it secret and put it all on his shoulders. But he was starting to entertain a new idea. What if "Halo Knight" was wrong about everything else, but right about him? What if, in addition to being the scion of an old-money family, he was also some sort of chosen one? What if this was actually a _dream_ within a dream?

It was what every red-blooded boy in America fantasized about, of course. You're living your life, and you suddenly discover that you have a special destiny, and that you're meant to save the world. All the old stories were like that. "Local boy makes good, becomes famous hero." It seemed like an impossible fantasy, and by being born a Worthington, Warren was _already_ in an impossible fantasy. No one could be that lucky twice, could they? But...he didn't really know where his wings had come from. He'd just assumed that he was a mutant, and he'd certainly been wrong before.

Warren had a lot on his mind, today-but, from time to time, he'd let himself daydream. What if he was a magical hero like Thor, and not a random biological freak? Granted, by the end of their fight, Halo Knight seemed to have changed his mind on that subject, himself. That "false light" stuff. But, for a little while, someone had thought that he was important and had potential, and neither had anything to do with his last name. It was almost as surreal as growing wings.

 _Yeah, he thought that you were the key to some cosmic plan...and when you refused to kill someone, he tried to kill you. Just be happy being a freak, Warren. It's a lot simpler._

The Worthingtons' ancestral estate was located in the New England countryside, but they'd always had business interests in New York City, so they kept a residence there, as well. Father ran Worthington Industries on a day-to-day basis. He stayed in the family's (cavernous) high-rise apartment during the week, and took the train back on weekends. But Warren's school-transfer had changed things. Now that he was in New York, as well, Mother was spending more time in the city. (She also did this to get away from her own mother, who'd recently moved in and taken over the entire southern wing of their estate. Warren's grandmother was stuck in the 1930s: she knew that it was 1963, but she was convinced that "the masses" would turn on "the gentry" at any moment, and she was terrified of the Roosevelts. His parents were still trying to get her to say "staff" instead of "servants.")

Unfortunately, it wasn't one of those cool, mod New York apartments. To Warren's eye, it looked more like a museum. Their apartment contained busts of obscure historic figures, expensive paintings, and antique-style furniture that wouldn't have looked out of place in a 19th century European salon. Warren used to bring girls up here, and they were always shocked to see an apartment that had _marble_ in it.

He let himself in, said an echoing "Hello?", and took his coat off. No one seemed to be there; he didn't see any of the maids or the executive assistant (Father had decided that "butler" was an outdated term). Warren was still in his school uniform. He'd been wearing his harness since seven-thirty that morning, and his wings were killing him, to the point that it would have hurt to change clothes. Besides, he was trying to save time. Warren was meeting Daredevil, tonight, and he had a mission to accomplish before then. He'd come up with a plan and a cover story.

Normally, something like this would have made Warren nervous-he was a barely-functional teenager, not a spy-but, after last night, he felt like he could do anything. That dogfight had cleared the cobwebs out of his head. The looping, the danger, all that oxygen blasting into his system...maybe the excitement still had him charged up, or maybe he'd made a breakthrough and become an actual superhero.

Warren draped his coat over a chair, walking through their decidedly non-humble abode. The Worthingtons were living a slightly-different species of the American Dream: one that you wouldn't see lionized in the movies or the magazines. Father had once told him that America was an aspirational country, and there wasn't anything immediately aspirational about the Worthingtons. They'd been wealthy even before they came to America. "Rags to riches" was a story that America loved; "born rich" wasn't nearly as dramatic, and it had nothing to do with the person's perseverance or moral character. Warren had seen how normal people reacted when they found out that he was an heir. "Lucky you," and a mixture of envy and suspicion. In the Worthingtons' circles, Old Money was king, and New Money was looked down on. In the rest of America, though, New Money was heroic, and Old Money was this weird quasi-British holdover. If a modern-day aristocrat was in a story, he was probably the villain.

Warren's parents weren't like his grandmother. They might have dressed like it was still the fifties, but they were worldly people, and they held surprisingly modern attitudes. Father constantly told him that you couldn't succeed if you didn't understand the times you lived in. Warren wanted to understand what it was like out there-and he wanted to experience it for himself-but his wings had gotten in the way. He'd always hated the kids that tried the "poor little rich boy" act; he knew how fortunate he was. But, if he was going to use his powers to help people, he needed to understand them. His wealth and his wings were making him stranger, not more normal.

The day had flown by. After his meeting with Daredevil, Warren had gone back to the school, slept like a rock, and barely made it to class on time. Everyone had been talking about Angel. The cops had released a statement about the attempted robbery last night, saying that he and Daredevil had foiled it, and some helicopter crew had seen his dogfight with Halo Knight. "He might look like an angel, but he flies like a fighter pilot!" His classmates had gone crazy. The morning paper had said something like, "Daredevil and 'Angel' Team Up to Battle Crime." Later in the day, the window-washer he'd saved had come forward, talking about his experience with "the angel." But people he'd never even met had come forward, as well. One woman insisted that he'd saved her from an alien and then kissed her.

Yesterday, Warren would have been thrilled; people finally knew that he was a superhero. Today, he didn't even care, because he had bigger things on his mind. How were they going to stop Halo Knight? Was he a mutant or something similar, or was Halo Knight actually right about that part? There were times when he _did_ feel like a legendary hero, someone sent to save everyone, but there were also times when he felt like a sheltered kid that was in over his head.

 _The truth is probably somewhere in-between...but that's a pretty broad area. Whatever you are, though, you need to hold up your end. Daredevil is counting on you not to screw this up. He can't fly, but Halo Knight can, and that gives you a job to do. You fight him when he's in the air, and you try to bring him back down to earth._

Watching Daredevil fight...Warren had never felt so useless and inadequate. For another new superhero, he seemed like an old hand. And he had _purpose_. He was out to save Hell's Kitchen, and you could sense how driven he was. Halo Knight was the same way. He was probably crazy, but, he had a mission, and he was determined to carry it out. What did Warren have? Yeah, he wanted to help people...but, in terms of goals, that was as generic as it got. It sounded like something a beauty-pageant contestant would say.

 _So you don't know who you are, or what you want to do. You're a teenager. You're not_ _ **supposed**_ _to know that, yet. Maybe Daredevil can help. If you're really going to do this, you need to know how to fight, and that seems to be his specialty. Maybe he'll take you on as his sidekick. The new superheroes don't have those, but the old ones did, right? Cap had Bucky, the original Human Torch had Toro, and Namor had...uh...well, Namor was just a jerk. It felt really good to be around another superhero. I've been dealing with all of this by myself, without anybody to talk to. I could use a friend. And the best part is, he doesn't care that I'm a mutant. That's amazing!_

Warren continued exploring their apartment, looking for his father. In the past, coming to the city (and this apartment) had felt like an adventure-an exciting break from his normal life. Now, the rest of his life was the adventure, and this apartment was the only normal place he had left. When he was here, the idea that he was Angel seemed impossible. It felt like a fantasy that he'd constructed in his head. The apartment was the same, and his parents were the same, but he was different, even if no one else knew it.

Father was on the second floor of their apartment, in the smaller living room. The primary living room was on the first floor; it was exclusively used for entertaining. This one was much more private. It was set further back, connecting to their bedrooms, the library, and his father's study. Father was sitting in his favorite chair and reading a magazine.

When Warren saw him, he felt the usual urge, the one that had been eating at him for the last year. He desperately wanted to tell him everything and ask for help. Old-money families, the kind that had centuries-old fortunes and treasure chests of political influence...if the children or grandchildren ran into problems, the temptation to use those resources was always there. Some of the boys at school were that way. They'd get arrested, or they'd get into trouble with a girl, and a week later, it was like it never happened. Father looked down on that. "Do things that _add_ to what we have, not subtract from it." Father could have used the Worthington name to get out of serving in the war, but he'd enlisted in the Navy the day after Pearl Harbor, and a battlefield promotion resulted in him commanding a ship. He'd sunk several enemy vessels and earned multiple medals. Warren's Uncle Burt, on the other hand...Father was always having to deal with his latest fiasco.

Warren never would have disappointed his father by asking for that kind of help. But, even if he'd done just that, it wouldn't have changed anything. He'd finally encountered a situation that his family couldn't help him with. (That wasn't true of his wings; he was pretty sure that, if he told Father about them, Father would find a trustworthy surgeon and secretly have them removed.) Halo Knight was dangerous, and all the money in the world wouldn't stop him. Warren was scared by that. Until now, he'd always known that the "family option" was there, even if he never planned on using it. His security blanket had gone up in smoke.

 _No, they can't get me out of this mess...but maybe they can help in another way._

He walked across the room, and Father looked up, saw him, and smiled. Like Warren, he had the Worthington look. Wavy blond hair (though his was thinner than it used to be), blue eyes, aristocratic cheekbones. A thin, well-kept mustache made him look like the patrician he was. Father stood up, creating a shadow in the syrupy fall-evening light, and he put down his magazine. It was the latest issue of _Now_ , debating whether or not Blue Marvel should have retired.

"Warren! What are you doing home, son?"

"I just needed to pick up a few things," Warren said, trying to sound as casual as he could. "Some books, a sweater..."

"Well, I'm glad to see you," Father said. He took a step toward Warren, getting ready to hug him-and Warren flinched, stopping in his tracks. His father didn't visibly react. Instead, he simply smiled and patted him on the arm.

His classmates' fathers tended to be distant and uninterested, but Warren Worthington, Jr. was different. He ran one of the biggest companies in the world, but he always made time for his son. Warren hadn't been shipped off to boarding school at an early age. His parents had been greatly involved in his life, and they hadn't sent him away until he was ready. They wanted him to learn some independence (and not end up like Uncle Burt). Over the last year, both of his parents had been looking at him differently, seeming to suspect that something was going on. But his grades were always good, and he never got in trouble.

Warren was burning with self-hatred. He would have killed for a hug, right now...but, with his wings stuffed under his clothes, it was out of the question. Thanks to his "powers," he'd been flinching away from his parents for the last few months. They probably thought he didn't love them or something. _You may be getting better at being a superhero, but you're getting worse at being a son._

Father sat back down, and Warren joined him, sitting in the chair across from him. "It's just me, tonight. Your mother went to some political meeting, Tom is out with his fiancée, and Lucia is babysitting her grandchildren. I was supposed to go to a hospital fundraiser at the Barrington Arms, but I decided to just send them a check."

Tom was their butler; Lucia was their maid. "Please tell everyone I said hi."

"So, how are you liking your new school?"

"It's fine," Warren said, hoping to make his life sound as uneventful as possible.

"Well, I hope that they pay more attention to detail than your previous school. Letting a fire break out like that...frankly, they're lucky that they didn't get sued."

"How are things at the office?"

"About the same," Father said. "That Stark boy is a real thorn in our side. He's coming up with breakthrough after breakthrough, and he isn't even thirty, yet."

Worthington Industries was involved in a number of different economic sectors, including real estate, publishing, manufacturing, engineering, and aviation. Aviation in particular was really booming. There was a lot of excitement there: the idea of commercial flight was still pretty sci-fi, and it was common to see people getting autographs from passenger-jet pilots. But Worthington Industries was involved in something even more cutting-edge than that. Two years ago, Warren's parents had been celebrating about some secretive business deal, but they wouldn't tell him what it was. He later heard them whispering about the "space contract." That was why Warren was here-he suspected that his father had high-level contacts in the space program, and if "Halo Knight" was really connected to them, he might know.

 _He just mentioned Tony Stark, so this is the best segue you're going to get. Be careful._

"You should hire your own superhero," Warren said, grinning.

"I wish I could," Father said. He seemed to be happy to see Warren smile. "But, right now, there aren't that many to choose from. In the forties, there were a lot more."

"Actually, there's another new super-person out there, but I think he's a criminal." Warren once again tried to sound as casual as possible. He took a page from James Dean-style Method acting, utilizing his personal experiences. He'd had a thousand normal, routine conversations with his father, and he tried to make it sound like one of them.

"Is it that fellow with wings? They weren't sure about him, at first, but they're thinking that he's a hero, now. You know, back in my day, there was anoth-"

Warren coughed. "Uh, no, it's the one in the silver suit. He looks like a spaceman or a test pilot."

His father shrugged, saying that he didn't sound familiar.

 _Careful, careful, careful._ "I've heard a lot of kids talking about him. They say that he can fly, and that he can shoot these energy rings that mess with gravity. They make things crash down to the ground or fly up in the air."

Warren Worthington, Jr. was a man who prized self-control. He knew how to keep his emotions hidden. Father was much more open than Warren's grandfather had been, but, when it came to business, he utilized the same poker-face strategy. Warren could tell the difference. At home, he was warm and friendly, and at the office, he was guarded and unreadable. That switch had just taken place now. His facial expression remained the same, but Warren saw his hands squeezing the chair's armrests.

When Father finally spoke, his voice sounded normal, but he was uncharacteristically dismissive. "That's interesting."

 _Oh my god, it worked! I was right!_ Judging by his father's (admittedly muted) reaction, Warren was pretty sure that, yeah, Halo Knight really was part of the space program. So he hadn't been lying about knowing powerful men, anyway. They were a step closer to figuring out who he really was.

"Anyway, I should grab my stuff," Warren said. He needed to get back to school, so he could pretend to go to bed, sneak out, and meet Daredevil.

"I'll fix you a snack before you go. I need to make a call, first, though," Father said absentmindedly.

When his father wasn't looking, Warren glanced at the clock. "Sure. Thanks, that sounds good." He probably had time for a quick snack. He'd need the extra energy, anyway. (Warren briefly tried to imagine any of his classmates' fathers doing something in the kitchen-or even being able to find one-and he chuckled.)

Father walked out of the living room, heading for the master bedroom. He closed curtains as he went. Warren headed for his room, as well, though it wasn't really his room at all. His actual bedroom was back at their country estate; this was more like his dorm room, a place that just happened to have some of his stuff in it.

Warren saw his father glance over his shoulder...and that was when he stopped thinking like Warren Worthington III and started thinking like Angel. _You told him about Halo Knight, and now he needs to make some mystery phone call. Yeah, there may be a connection, there, master detective._

The master bedroom was in a hallway off of the living room. Father was lingering by its door, but he hadn't shut it, yet. He seemed to be waiting for Warren to go into his room, which was on the other side of the living room. Warren got a crazy idea. He walked down the hallway to his own bedroom, turned the corner, and took off his jacket, shirt, and harness. Warren tossed them into his room. His wings stretched out-after having them pinned against his back all day, it was an incredible relief. Then, he loudly slammed the door shut, making sure his father would hear it. Warren backtracked and stuck his head around the corner.

His father was still in the doorway, but his back was turned. Warren flew into the living room, silently gliding, and he flipped around and gripped the room's high ceiling. When Father glanced into the living room, he naturally kept his gaze low. This part of the apartment seemed to be empty. He nodded to himself, went into the bedroom, and shut the door. Once it was shut, Warren glided to the floor. He crept down the hallway and put his ear against the door.

At first, Warren couldn't hear much. The door was thick, and the master bedroom phone was on the nightstand, which was at the other end of the (huge) room. He really focused, and he started to pick up bits and pieces. His father asked to be connected to the "business liaison." Then, thirty seconds later, he recited a seemingly-random series of letters and numbers. There was another short period of silence. Out of nowhere, his father started ranting into the phone.

Warren heard "Why wasn't I informed?" and "What kind of shop are you running over there?" After that, there was the usual start-and-stop phone-arguing, consisting of short, angry bursts. Things like "No, no, listen-" and "Come on!" Out of context, they were meaningless. But, as the conversation went on, Father calmed down, and Warren picked up full sentences.

"Of course I'm angry-I had to find out about this from my _son_. Every teenager in the city probably knows, but, apparently, you can't find time to call your main contractor."

"He 'escaped?' You told me that he was a volunteer, so why would he 'escape?' "

"Well, even if that's true, it doesn't matter. You have to get him back. Without him, we'll have to go back to rocket propulsion, and that's an awkward way to do things."

"No, it's a little too late to _talk_ to them about how they're going to handle it."

"As crazy as all of this is, at the end of the day, it's just a business deal. And business deals have two ends. I've handled my end, and now you need to handle yours."

Father was silent for a good minute.

"I'm sorry, but, that is simply unacceptable. Security risk or not, we need him t-"

More silence, his father hitting or kicking something, and his father sighing much louder than usual.

"I see. I see."

"So, we go back to the drawing board. America does that better than anyone. Obviously, I'm extremely unhappy, and I'll be communicating that to the appropriate parties. But I'm not going to let your screw-up get in the way of my work."

"I will say this, though. I'm not the kind of old soldier that goes around lecturing people about security. I was good in the war, but I wasn't the best, and I'd never claim to know more than the current men. I may not fully understand the security end of all this, but I understand the economic end very well. The public isn't ready to find out about mutants. If that happens, we could be looking at the second major stock market crash in forty years."

Warren's breath caught in his throat. _Wait, he's a mutant, too?_

"Listen to me. A few superheroes, monsters, and criminals running around New York is one thing. But if it could be _anyone_? Your neighbor, your spouse? We know that the rate has gone up since the atomic explosions, so what if people stop having kids, because they're afraid they'll be mutants? Thanks to Communism, the country is already paranoid...and you aren't exactly making it better. We're on the razor's edge as it is. I know it, you know it, and Kennedy knows it. We're reaching for the stars, but we've got World War III in the back of our mind. You need to speed up your 'psy-ops' or whatever they're called."

"No, don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Of course you're getting them ready. All those cheap science-fiction movies set after nuclear wars, where the people are freaks, or have powers. At least some of those have to be you. You're getting them used to the idea, and that's wise. But you need to move more quickly. If it gets out too soon, if-"

Warren had heard enough. He flew across the living room, rushed into his bedroom, and shut the door (quietly, this time). Warren squeezed into his harness, trying to fight off the panic that had crept into his mind. He'd never been interested in politics, but, apparently, his mere _existence_ was political. And radical, and dangerous. It was every teenager's worst nightmare. He just wanted to fit in and be normal, but Father had made mutants sound like walking atomic bombs. They were capable of destabilizing the old order and throwing everything into chaos.

 _Daredevil was wrong: even if Halo Knight is just after us, he could still hurt other people. It won't be enough just to stop him. We have to keep the source of his powers a secret, too, or we'll have mass-panic on our hands. We already have race riots, so why not mutant riots? People taking to the streets and demanding that the government does something about them. About...us..._

Warren felt poisoned, somehow. Infected. Before, he'd been doing this to help people, and it hadn't been about him at all. But he had a personal interest in things, now. And it felt a little wrong. Superheroes were supposed to be selfless, they didn't benefit from their actions.

 _I need to focus on Halo Knight. If I'm distracted by this other stuff, I could screw up and get killed, or get Daredevil killed. Come on, Warren. Don't let this get to you._

He was fully dressed, now, and he sat at his desk, trying to act as normal as possible. Warren abruptly realized that he'd entered a new frontier. Before, being a Worthington had always been the defining factor in his life. Now, though...whether he was a mutant or some out-there magic messiah, _that_ was the most important thing. His family was his past, and Angel was his future. Warren wondered how long it would take him to get used to such a crazy idea.


	15. Issue 2, Chapter 7

They were coming for him, of course. Trim, hard-eyed men who were posing as laborers: they wore stocking caps, dark jackets, jeans, workboots, and faded brown gloves. But they looked too energized and purposeful to be men that were just getting off of long shifts. The G-men approached from different angles, striding down the street and converging on the condemned building that he was hiding in. The sun had just gone down. Paul-Halo Knight-was watching from the top floor, carefully hovering from window to window. He laughed at how small their thinking was. They were trying to end him, and he was trying to end the world.

Paul shouldn't have been scared of them. Compared to the darkness that called itself "Daredevil," they were nothing. He was injured, though: his body ached all over, with his neck being particularly stiff. And one of his legs was really throbbing. (Daredevil had aimed a kick at his knee, but Paul had started to fly, so it hit his ankle, instead. He'd narrowly avoided getting a broken leg.) Paul wasn't afraid of dying, but he _was_ terrified that he wouldn't complete his mission. He was incredibly close to triggering something, so, naturally, this dead-end world was trying to stop him. Paul thought about simply flying away...but he was pretty sure that he'd spotted at least one sniper on a neighboring rooftop. Luckily, most of the windows were boarded up, so he could peek through without getting his head blown off.

 _You'll have to stand and fight-but that's just what you need, isn't it? Practice. When I was living on-base, I was constantly under guard. I never had a chance to practice shooting energy or flying. If they'd seen me doing anything like that, they would've put something in my food and locked me in a bunker under the desert. That's why the first fight didn't go so well. If I have to beat the darkness_ _ **and**_ _the false light, I need to get better at this stuff._

Questions were scratching at his brain: what was the name of the (mental) disease that everyone else had? That desperate, delusional addiction to hope? And why did he keep thinking about some random building?

Paul took one last drink of cold milk (he'd stolen a bottle of it earlier, along with a few other supplies), slapped his cheek a few times, and put his helmet on. He'd taken a nap, but his mind kept drifting. _Get with it, Paul, you need to focus._

He should have been gone by now, but he'd run into a problem. Paul had been brainstorming, trying to think of a way to draw out Angel and Daredevil...he needed something specific, something that was guaranteed to get their attention. But nothing was coming to mind. Paul _had_ thought of a plan to use the next time he fought them; unfortunately, after that, he'd hit a wall. Sure, he could just fly around the city and scare people until they showed up, but that could get too messy. There were a lot of superheroes in New York, and a lot of men with badges and guns. Paul needed to do something that was on his enemies' wavelength. He was about to be besieged by men that were nothing but distractions, and he didn't want to attract even more of them.

The G-men might as well have been zombies. They were part of a dead, futile world...its social machinery was still running, the governments and economies and churches, but the people had been left behind long ago. And they were doing everything they could to avoid the truth. Paul didn't know which branch of the government had sent these men, but they were on a sort of unthinking autopilot, defending something that was already doomed. All they could do was stop him from saving everyone.

Paul had spotted six of them (not counting the sniper), but he was far from an expert, so there were probably another six that he _hadn't_ seen. He was sure that they were all carrying guns. Knives and piano wire might be fine for conventional targets, but he didn't think they'd want to get that close to someone like him.

 _You have to survive for just a few more hours...you have to complete the ritual. If you don't do it now, you might never get another chance. You're light, Daredevil's darkness, and you're both in the same city at the same time. Everything is lined up perfectly. For all you know, there could be a nuclear war, tomorrow. That's the_ _ **wrong**_ _kind of end of the world. Instead of everybody going to paradise, we'll just limp along in a post-apocalyptic wasteland for a few centuries._

Paul hovered downstairs, floating down a stairwell; the building consisted of three floors and a basement, and it was full of empty crates and garbage. The rooms were large-they'd probably been offices-and about half of them lacked doors. There was hardly any light, but the visor in his helmet enabled him to see in the dark. This suit had been designed for space-combat, and light was at a premium, up there. His visor gave everything a greenish tinge. From what he remembered, the helmet was some Stark-made prototype.

He flew around and shot heavy-gravity rings (though he thought of them as halos) at all of the first-floor doors. If a few stray halos hit fixed portions of a building-walls, floors, ceilings, or rooftops-they wouldn't have any noticeable effect. Paul had learned that early on, when the scientists had him pump large objects full of anti-gravity. They'd thought that single chunks might be ripped out of those objects, but, instead, his halos were "thinly distributed" through them. It took a ton of halos to affect something that was big. Doors were different, though. They were incredibly heavy, now, and they wouldn't budge. Paul shot five halos into each door. It wasn't exactly scientific, but, he figured that it would keep them shut for twenty or so minutes. His would-be assassins would have to come in through the windows, and the boards would make that a little noisy.

 _They probably think that I'm nothing but powers. 'Oh, yeah, he's a freak with special abilities, but he isn't tough or dangerous outside of that.' Keep thinking that, guys. I faced death for years, and I was still a kid, back then. It made me stronger. My parents abandoned me, and I have these visions that would drive most people insane, but neither of those things broke me. I taught myself how to use my powers. And I may not know much about fighting, but I spent years doing nothing but reading. Yeah, I never got to graduate from high school-or even go there-but my brain works just fine, thanks. I've been planning this for a while._

Paul _felt_ like Halo Knight, right now. When he put the helmet on, it made his voice more imposing, but it also changed the way that he expressed himself. He spoke from a part of himself that he hadn't even known was there. Not the part that was scared, but the part that was sure. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't a religious nut. No, he just happened to be living in a crazy world, and he'd decided to play the odds. A number of cosmic systems were in place, and certain actions were bound to trigger at least one of them.

 _We deserve an alternative. Every other human being keeps trying, and it hasn't worked-at least one person needs to_ _ **stop**_ _trying. Just to see what would happen._

Paul heard someone trying to pick one of the locks, and he smiled underneath his helmet.

It was one of the side-doors. He floated over the crap on the floor (broken beer bottles, crumpled-up newspaper pages, ancient cigarette butts), approaching it. The doorknob rattled a little, but he didn't hear the lock moving. It was probably as heavy and immobile as the door itself. He heard a metallic scratching, and then nothing. Moments later, there were similar noises by the back door, the front door, and the other side-door. He heard some shoving, but they didn't try to kick the doors in. They were probably just trying to avoid noise. They were lucky; they would have broken their feet trying. The building was surrounded...Paul felt a brief flash of claustrophobia. Then, weather-battered wood groaned, and his pursuers started to yank boards off of the windows.

 _Don't panic, Paul. Just stick to the plan._

The doors were temporarily out of the question, and this building's fire escape had literally fallen down, so the ground-level windows were their only way in. Paul could see most of the windows on the first floor. It consisted of a large foyer and just two offices, so it was more wide-open than the other floors. He heard the boards come off, one by one, and horizontal stripes of light started to appear. (Most of it was from streetlights, but there were also a few neon signs.) Paul avoided the light-his visor didn't like brightness-and stood in the middle of the room.

They started crawling in, and he started shooting.

Paul hit most of them with heavy-gravity halos. He waited until each man had climbed halfway through, stranding them in an awkward position. Their ribs and stomachs slammed against the windowsills. They shouted and cursed, and a few of them managed to get off shots. But it was still pretty dark, and Paul had started to fly, turning himself into a moving target. They were more than a little distracted, too. Their new weight pinned them right where they were. They weren't strong enough to push themselves in, and their comrades weren't strong enough to pull them back out. Most of the windows were blocked. The rest of the men were stuck outside, desperate to get in.

He flew in a jagged circle and fired more heavy-gravity halos at the trapped men (with one exception). Most of them hit the men or the wall around them, but he eventually managed to get their guns, as well. They became too heavy for them to hold. When they fell, they created dents in the tile floor.

"You shouldn't have come here," he said, because that sounded like something a movie-monster might say. The more scared they were, the better.

Only two of the first-floor's individual offices had windows. One of them was now blocked by a panicking hitman who'd lost his gun, but the other...the other was the next part of his plan. When a G-man had climbed through it, Paul had shot him with an anti-gravity halo, instead. The small of his back slammed _up_ against the top part of the windowsill. He yanked himself in, only to immediately crash against the ceiling. His head forcefully bounced off of it, he lost his gun, and he stuck to the ceiling like glue, dazed. That window was now the only way in, and they'd have to squeeze through one at a time. Paul would be able to shoot them like fish in a barrel.

One man came through, and Paul hit him with a heavy-gravity halo. The second man got in a little quicker, and he rolled out of harm's way; Paul's first halo missed, but the second one made him crack his back against the ceiling. It was the equivalent of a twelve-foot fall. His anti-gravity was powerful, so the man had moved at a high (and painful) speed. There wasn't a third man. Instead, they started shooting through that window, and Paul floated backwards, slipping around a corner. He went back into the foyer, making sure to avoid their line of fire.

The first wave was still stuck in the windows, blocking them...but it looked like the men outside had decided to start shooting in, as well. Paul saw them wedge guns inside, squeezing them between their allies and the windowframes. His stomach went ice-cold.

It was still pretty dark inside, and they must have had trouble seeing him, which bought him a few seconds. Paul's aim was getting better, and he thought about shooting their guns...but people were big targets, and guns were little ones. His aim wasn't _that_ good. Instead, he made his body rigid and compact, flying for the stairwell. He heard bullets fly by. Once he crashed into the stairwell, he kicked its metal door shut behind him. Bullets rattled the door; it sounded like a tin roof in a hailstorm.

 _You accidentally created a shield for the ones outside. They can just stick their guns in, and hide behind their buddies and the wall._

Paul shot heavy-gravity halos at the door. The building wasn't up to code, it only had one set of stairs. This would be their only way up. Paul Battaglia just wanted to slow them down, and buy himself some time. But Halo Knight knew that time was of the essence. They were making him waste it, right now. He needed to take care of them, and quickly, so he could focus on the more important stuff.

 _Get upstairs and shoot at them from the windows, or fly down there and strafe them like a warplane. If they've got the building surrounded, they must be stretched thin, right? They're on different sides of it, so they can't all attack you at once._

Paul flew up to the second floor. There was a main office, some hallways branching off of it, and then smaller offices in the back. It was empty and filthy. No one else would be up here-the building no longer had a working fire escape, so the first floor was now the only way in. He went to a certain boarded-up window, which was right over the ground-floor window that he'd left unblocked. A few quick halos took care of the boards that had been covering it. Paul waited for a moment, thinking that the sniper would take a shot at him, but nothing happened. Maybe he was on the other side of the building? When he looked down, he saw his would-be assassins starting to swarm around the unblocked window. Paul shot them with heavy-gravity halos. Half of the men went down, and the other half scattered and fell back.

Suddenly, Paul felt movement behind him, and he twisted around and hovered sideways. Bullets tore into the wall around the window.

Paul flew as quickly as he could, racing down a hallway and shooting back. One of them had gotten up there. The guy must have literally scaled the building...which, unless you were Spider-Man, should have been impossible. Paul only got a glimpse of him. Just another plainclothes hitman, seemingly the same as all the rest. He turned a corner, landed, waited a second or two, and peeked back around. A bullet hit him right in his helmet. It nearly knocked him over, but he used the wall to hold himself up.

 _Well, I'm still alive, so the helmet must be bulletproof._

"You aren't getting out of here," the man said. He had a vaguely Western accent. "You could have been part of something incredible-the next age of humanity-but, no, you had to go and screw up the whole thing."

Paul was surprised to hear one of his attackers say that. Most of them probably thought that they were serving their country, protecting it from some threat, but at least this guy knew what they were really risking their lives for. They were fighting for an ideal that was also an idol. Sure, the future that they were imagining was impossible, but their masters would still send them out to die for it. Paul didn't think of them as people, anymore. They were just symptoms. The world was broken, had _always_ been broken, and everybody was in denial about it. It was a sickness. Trying to reason with them would be pointless, they were determined not to see it.

He (carefully) stuck his hand around the corner and fired off some halos. Paul hoped to hear a thump, as the man hit either the floor or the ceiling, but one never came. He couldn't see or hear him, but he was sure that he was coming. In fact, as strange as it sounded, he could _feel_ him. But Paul didn't have time to think about that. He was focused on his opponent, and how something about him was different. For instance, the floor was covered with garbage, so he should have heard glass breaking, and paper crinkling. But there was nothing. This man had climbed the building, and now he was somehow being as silent as a ghost.

 _Wait...all that garbage..._

Paul got down on his knees, put both hands an inch or two above the floor, and once again fired around the corner. But he was firing low, now. He didn't know where his enemy was, but the floor was easy enough to find, as was all the crap on it.

Detritus rocketed toward the ceiling. Broken glass, shredded newspapers, chunks of plaster, wadded-up flyers, abandoned office supplies, and even a few dead rats. Paul stepped around the corner and kept shooting. The assassin was trapped in a flurry of garbage, and the sudden movement had kicked up a lot of dust. Paul raised his aim, but the man sidestepped, squeezing off a shot. Most of his halos went by the assassin, while one actually hit the bullet. It crashed through the floor like the world's heaviest marble. Paul knew that it was a complete fluke, something that he'd never be able to pull off again.

The man continued to fire, but Paul took to the air, flying up to the ceiling and shooting halos down at him. His bullets passed underneath him. The man wasn't as acrobatic as Daredevil, but he still managed to dodge the halos, and he used a corner as cover, getting ready to fire back. But his gun clicked empty.

Paul landed a few feet away from him, got ready to shoot him point-blank, and promptly received a spin-kick to the ribs.

He fired halos, but the man jumped over them, tackling him. By the time that Paul realized he was on the floor, he'd gotten hit in the chest and arms four or five times. Human nature had kicked in; he was using his arms to shield himself, when he should have been using them to shoot him. By the time that he thought to do it, the assassin was off of him, and Paul heard a knife slide out of leather. Paul scrambled to his feet, forming a halo in each hand. This guy was bigger and stronger than him, and a better fighter, as well. Punching him probably wouldn't do much. If he could swing his halos at him, though...

 _You only have to hit him once._

Paul lunged at him, swinging a halo in a downward arc, but the man blocked his attack and slashed at his stomach. The outer layer of the suit tore. Paul felt the knife hit something thick and solid-it must have been a pad-but it didn't seem to get any deeper than that. The knife stuck in the suit; Paul made it heavy and let it hit the floor. He stumbled back, decided to give up on the hand-to-hand idea, and tried to line up a shot. But the man charged at him before he was ready. He kicked Paul in the groin, causing him to double over, and then he kicked him in the face, causing him to (painfully) straighten back up. But Paul heard him grunt when his foot made contact with the helmet; he probably hadn't been expecting it to be so hard.

He started to continuously shoot halos, figuring that he could aim as he went, but his opponent got in super-close, so that Paul was actually shooting _past_ him. The guy was insanely fast. He flipped his gun in the air, catching it by the barrel-and then he started using it as a blunt object. Staying tight, he played Paul like a set of drums. The gun's butt bounced off of his helmet, torso, and arms. It was a silver blur. Paul tried to aim at him, but he'd casually brush his arms aside. While he worked his upper body with the gun, he used his legs to try to trip him, and Paul had to use a halo to hold himself up. He formed a heavy-gravity halo in his other hand, hoping that he could tag him with it. That close, it should have been easy...but the assassin twisted, ducked, and weaved, and Paul never came within six inches of him. It was maddening.

If not for the suit's padding, Paul would have been rolling around on the floor, screaming in pain. As it was, he merely felt like he'd been hit by a truck. Paul kept swinging at him, and the assassin did the same thing, but his attacks hit home.

 _This doesn't have to be a boxing match, genius-you can_ _ **fly**_ _-_

Paul hovered away, once again trying to line up a shot. Unfortunately, the assassin pulled out a second gun, and Paul went from aiming to evading. They fired at each other. Paul flew erratically through the room, zigging and zagging; he was trying not to run into any walls, so he could only aim during stolen glances. He felt a few bullets wing the suit (but not his body), while his halos hit the floor and walls. Paul was getting closer to hitting him, without a doubt, but the assassin was incredible. This guy had reflexes like a cheetah.

There was an explosion downstairs: it sounded muffled, and Paul assumed that they were trying to blow the stairwell door. The scientists had run hundreds of tests on objects affected by heavy-gravity halos. Until his gravitational effect wore off, large objects (such as doors) were hard to move, even with explosive force.

Then, Paul got lucky. The detritus that he'd hit earlier-the garbage on the floor-had been pressed against the ceiling. But the effect wore off, and it started to fall back down. The paper, glass, and dead animals fell on and around the assassin. It distracted him right as his backup gun ran out of ammo. His last few shots weren't as close, and while he paused to reload, Paul swooped in and fired. The assassin ducked, rolled, and almost got away...but one of his halos caught the edge of his ankle. It didn't pull him down to the floor, but he seemed slower and heavier. Paul started to close the distance between them...

...and he heard a louder explosion downstairs. This one seemed to rock the entire building, and he heard boards splinter. They must have gone through the wall to get to the stairwell.

The assassin thumped around the corner, trying to reload. Paul was sure that he could get there before he did. But he heard a horde of footsteps on the stairs, and he suddenly realized that he'd forgotten to make the stairwell door heavy, or even close it. It was cracked open. Paul shot it, hitting it dead-on, but his halos didn't have any force behind them, so the door didn't shut. A gloved hand reached through, flinging a grenade into the room.

 _HOLY-_

Paul missed it, missed it, missed it, and hit it. The grenade, which had gotten halfway to him, struck the ceiling. It punched a hole in it. Paul flinched, but he remained in the air. The now-heavy door was pushed further open, and at least ten men poured into the room, weapons drawn. Some of them were the men that he'd trapped in the windows. Chunks of plaster and wood started to rain down, and a web of cracks spread through the ceiling. Paul shot the men in front, and they went down (or up, depending), but there were too many of them, and they were about to open fire.

That could have been the moment that Paul died. It also could have been the moment that he decided he was afraid of death, and that he wanted to stop being Halo Knight and live. But neither of those things happened. Instead, Paul fired a series of halos up at the grenade-damaged ceiling.

It wasn't one continuous surface, anymore: the explosion had turned it into a cracked, falling-apart thing. Chunks of plaster and wood continued to come loose and crash down to the floor. Others were dangling, hanging by a proverbial thread. Paul hit as many of them as he could, making them incredibly heavy, and the armed men suddenly found themselves in a manmade hailstorm. Judging by the dents the chunks made, they weighed at least as much as bowling balls. A few of the men did manage to fire, but they were getting battered by the debris, so the shots were wild. Paul heard cursing, and bones breaking. They fell down and curled up defensively. One man managed to avoid the onslaught, but he tripped over one that had embedded itself in the floor, falling flat on his face. It sounded like a few of his toes had shattered.

All of them were down, now. They were covered with bruises, and bleeding, and some of them seemed to be unconscious. There weren't any more footsteps coming up the stairs. For a moment, Paul felt confident and happy-if he could do something like this, he _had_ to be the light-and then he remembered the other assassin. He spun in a wild circle, his eyes scrambling all over the room. But the man was nowhere to be seen. He was probably in the back offices, somewhere. Those offices were smaller, and the hallways were tight...it would be tough for him to fly around. And there were plenty of places for the man to hide.

Paul put two or three heavy-gravity halos into each of his opponents, making sure to keep his eyes peeled. He'd only hit this other man once, and it wouldn't have worn off by now, but it had just been a partial hit. The guy would still be on his feet, just slower and more awkward.

 _And he has at least two guns...and he's probably reloaded both of them..._

Paul flew through the hole in the ceiling, going up to the third floor. He tried to land, but he found that he could barely stay on his feet, so he hovered, instead. The assassin had really worked him over, and Paul hadn't been in great shape to begin with. Also, since he'd been pushing his abilities to the maximum, more memories/visions were starting to cloud his mind. The light and the darkness. He'd read about the yellow-and-blue man getting an escaped lion out of a tree, and he'd heard someone talking about how the darkness could change its shape.

Trying to focus on the physical world, Paul aimed down through the hole: he didn't want to go back into those cramped hallways, so he'd lure the assassin to him.

"I know what you are," he said in Halo Knight's voice. "You're a Candidate. The way you fight, you have to be. I've heard the guards whispering about you guys. You probably know some things about me, but I bet I know more about that program than you do."

The assassin didn't say anything.

"When all of this started, I was just a scared kid, and the scientists kept trying to calm me down. They told me a lot of stories-stories about stuff that a teenage boy would like. Some of them worked with the different Captain Americas. The original one that vanished, and the fake ones from the late forties and fifties. Well, guess what, Mr. Candidate? After what happened with the last fake one, they're never using any version of the Super-Solder Serum again. It's too dangerous. You'd have an impossible legacy to live up to, and you'd be trying to do it with one hand tied behind your back. Don't worry, though...we both know that they'll never give you the job, anyway. They want a fresh-faced war hero, not some hardened killer."

The assassin didn't say anything. He didn't scream and come out shooting, either.

"Your friends are alive. I could have killed them, but I didn't, because I'm not the bad guy, here. I'm doing everything I can to save our species. I only want to kill one-no, I only want to kill _two_ people. Just leave me alone. In a few hours, the world will be over, so none of it matters."

The assassin didn't say anything...and Paul decided that it was time to leave. He didn't want this guy coming after him again, but, ultimately, it didn't matter whether he beat him or not. Daredevil and Angel were the real priorities.

That sniper was probably still out there, so Paul knew that the windows were better off avoided. Instead, he flew up to the roof access hatch, creating an anti-gravity halo. He'd make the hatch fly off, and then shoot straight up like a rocket. The sniper might have time to get a single shot off, but he'd be a fast-moving target, and he'd be high and (hopefully) out of his range before he could try a second shot.

But, when the light from Paul's halo glowed against the access hatch, he saw a dull reflection of himself, and everything suddenly became clear. He knew what humanity's disease was called. He knew why Daredevil and Angel were pretending to be superheroes. And he knew how to draw them right to him.

Seconds later, the hatch soared into the sky, and Paul was right behind it. A gunshot eventually went off, but he was high above the buildings by that point. It hadn't even felt close. Paul smiled, thrilled that he'd finally figured out the truth. All it took was being reminded of the color of his helmet.


	16. Issue 2, Chapter 8

As impossible as it seemed, there was another.

Daredevil crouched on the edge of a Manhattan rooftop, taking in as much of the city as he could-the movements, the sounds, the smells. A police car was parked nearby, and he could hear everything that came across their radio. Daredevil strained his senses and waited. He was out there, somewhere...the other man without fear.

The city had given him a name, but it had also given him that title: apparently, if you hurled yourself at armed men night after night, it eventually made an impression. They weren't wrong. Oh, Daredevil felt fear for the people that Matt Murdock cared about, like Foggy and Karen, and he feared for the safety of Hell's Kitchen. But, when it came to his own life, he was fearless. That boldness came from two different sources. He'd been angry for as long as he could remember, and his anger had choked his fear to death at some point in his teenage years. Also, most fear came from the idea of what _could_ happen; put a human being in a dark room, and they'll wonder if their worst nightmare is hiding in that darkness. But Daredevil suffered from what later generations would call "information overload." If his window rattled, he knew that it really _was_ just the wind, as opposed to someone trying to break in. The strength and accuracy of his senses prevented his imagination from getting the better of him.

There had been other men without fear, but they weren't quite the same. Kamikaze pilots had known that they were going to die; sociopaths were too crazy to be afraid; the more extreme types of adventurers got off on it (and then went back to their regular lives). That sort of fearlessness was rooted in either insanity or short-term conditions. But to be fearless every single day, and to avoid getting killed in the process? _That_ was a real challenge. Halo Knight wanted Daredevil to be some sort of crazy sacrifice, but he didn't realize that he already was one. Living sacrifices were the best kind. Average people were capable of charging into certain doom, saving people, and dying. But that was a one-shot thing, something that couldn't be repeated. New York needed someone that could sacrifice themselves over and over.

 _I honestly thought that I was the only person crazy enough to be this fearless...but Halo Knight is, too. He thinks that our entire species is already doomed. Compared to that, everything else pales in comparison._

Daredevil heard Angel before his radar sense picked him up. The young man glided down and landed on the rooftop, saying "Hey." Daredevil never knew how a person looked-happy, sad, calm, angry-but he smelled a combination of adrenaline and anxiety. Extreme anxiety.

"You okay, kid?"

"Please don't call me 'kid.' And, yeah, I'm fine."

"Just for the record: you don't have to do this," Daredevil said. "You can still back out."

"No, it's like you said before...he can fly, and you can't. You need me."

Unfortunately, Daredevil couldn't argue with that. In time, he'd probably find a way to deal with people who could fly, but this was his first enemy with powers, and he needed all the help he could get.

 _Something's definitely wrong, though. The k-Angel is really nervous. Fear is just pouring off of him, and it wasn't even doing that during our fight with Halo Knight. Maybe he's just afraid of getting killed by this lunatic._

"I found some things out," Daredevil said. "Halo Knight is-"

"-he's a mutant, and he _is_ connected to the space program," Angel said. "But I didn't get his real name."

Daredevil was shocked: Matt Murdock worked with witnesses of all ages, so he knew that teenagers saw and knew more than adults realized, and that they pooled their information in the form of rumors. He'd thought that Angel might hear some stories about Halo Knight at school, the sort of things that kids wouldn't tell authority figures. But he'd never expected him to find out that much. _Stop underestimating him, Matt._

"I heard the same thing. But I also found out that the government wants to assassinate him, which could be a problem."

"Uh, wait, _our_ government?"

"Once we beat him, we need to hand him over to the feds. The CIA wants to kill him in the field, but I don't think that they'll be able to-we'll have to be the ones that get him under control. The thing is, the CIA will still want him dead, and I think that they'll kill him once he's in custody. The FBI may be willing to keep him alive, so they're our best option." _And our only option._

"But...if they decide to execute him...I mean, they do that to people all the time, right?"

"Executions only happen at the end of a trial. This would be without a trial, so it'd be murder."

"I see what you're saying, but...he wants to kill us, and he's literally trying to end the world, so..."

"Do you kill people?"

"No, of course not!"

"Do you think there's a difference between killing someone yourself and handing them over to be killed?"

"...okay, okay. I get it."

"Halo Knight was unstable to begin with, and now that they've tried to take him out, he'll only get worse."

"They already tried?"

"There was a shootout about an hour ago, and it was supposedly between two gangs of armed criminals, but there weren't any casualties. The story didn't make sense. I went by the building, and I could tell that no one died there." _Death has an all-too-familiar smell._

"Could we pick up his trail from there?"

"If a person is on-foot, I can track them almost anywhere. But when they're in the air..."

"So, what's the plan?"

 _Well, I've been listening to the cop car down there, waiting to hear if anything comes across their radio. But it hasn't worked._ "He isn't coming to us, so we need to go to him. We patrol."

"Sounds good," Angel said. "There's, uh, one other thing, though."

Daredevil smelled his anxiety spike.

"The...source that I got my information from, he thinks that Halo Knight could cause a national panic. I mean, not from what he's trying to do, but from what he _is_. He thinks that America isn't ready to find out about mutants. So, we need to stop him, but we can't let him talk too much, either."

"I understand." Even in futuristic-sounding 1963, there was still a lot of controversy around civil rights and women's lib. Daredevil couldn't imagine how the country would react to the existence of mutants. Riots, financial chaos, paranoia that would make the Red Scare look minor.

 _No wonder he's afraid. The potential anti-mutant danger is bad enough, but knowing that your 'kind' terrifies the rest of the world...that must really do a job on your head. Especially when you're only a teenager._

"You can't let it get to you," Daredevil said. "The life we live, the problems we have to deal with...it can be a little 'trippy,' and that's okay."

Angel laughed. "Whoa, easy with the mod slang, daddy-o. But, thanks."

"You're welcome." After an awkward pause, he added, "I end up overhearing a lot of conversations, so I know how young people are talking, but that just isn't me."

"Yeah, keep acting like you're some grizzled old man. I bet you're only, what, ten years older than me?" Angel sighed; from the angle of his head, he seemed to be staring off into the distance. "I know that he's wrong. Halo Knight, I mean. I'm not some magic savior, and you aren't some evil force...but, still, just the _idea_ of it...yeah, it's trippy."

"It definitely is. Come on, let's go."

Daredevil sprinted, jumped off of the rooftop, and bounced off of a flagpole. He wrapped his billy club's cord around a thick cornice, swinging away. Angel ascended from the rooftop and followed. New York was relatively quiet, right now-no sirens, no gunshots-and chilly ocean air was rolling in. The streets were rivers of Chevrolets (each model of car had a distinctive-sounding engine), and Daredevil heard the Beatles on dozens of radios. Some of the more old-fashioned nightclubs had spotlights shining into the sky.

People saw them, of course. Daredevil heard their reactions. Excited shouts, disbelieving laughter, astonished cursing. They nearly caused several car accidents, as people were apparently looking up instead of ahead. Footsteps raced toward apartment windows-some of them were small, and must have belonged to children. One man on the street shouted "Go, Daredevil! Go, Angel-Man!"

Angel kept glancing back over his shoulder, making sure that he was keeping up. But Daredevil easily kept pace with him. He raced across filthy rooftops, effortlessly pulled himself up walls, and swung through the night. Whenever he was downwind of Angel, he could tell that the young man was feeling better. Flying seemed to have a calming effect on him. His breathing was more level, and the fear-chemicals had been replaced by positive endorphins. Daredevil smiled. He'd gotten into this life to avenge his father and save his neighborhood, and they had a major threat to deal with...but it could really be fun, at times.

They only came across a few criminals. A potential mugger was walking toward an elderly lady who was walking her (tiny) dog, but when he saw them, he made an abrupt turn, seeming to chicken out. The man threw something into a garbage can and vanished into the subway. Another individual was doing some late-night window-shopping: when they passed over, he backed away from the glass and ran down the sidewalk.

At one point, Daredevil heard gunfire, but it was a false alarm. Four armed robbers were exchanging fire with two patrol cops. The cops were pinned down, unable to get clean shots, and the robbers were advancing on them. Manhattan was Spider-Man's territory...but Daredevil didn't see him around, right now. He pointed, Angel nodded, and they broke off, heading for the robbers.

Angel hit them with knockout gas. It was windy, so the gas quickly blew away, but it got them startled and coughing. Daredevil swung down, simultaneously kicking the biggest man in the head. The guy's gun bounced across the concrete. Daredevil landed right in the middle of them, shaking his grappling cord loose, and the other three robbers flinched as it whipped around and retracted. He used the opportunity to break one man's ribs and nose and throw another man head-first into a fire hydrant. The fourth man tried to aim at Daredevil, but Angel imitated him, kicking the robber while still in the air. Daredevil then ripped his gun away and clubbed the fight out of him. The big man was stunned, but he wasn't down, and he tried to find the gun he'd dropped. Angel wing-swatted him, flipping him head over heels. The man crashed on the hood of a parked Cadillac.

All told, it took fifteen seconds. By the time that the cops poked their heads out, Daredevil and Angel were already gone, continuing their search for Halo Knight.

"Hang on," Daredevil said. Angel didn't respond. He'd never had anyone to talk with while he was swinging around, and he realized that, with the air rushing by, Angel couldn't hear him. He repeated himself, shouting. Angel looked his way, nodded, and landed on the nearest rooftop. Daredevil swung to it and joined him.

"What, do you need a break?" Angel said, a smile in his voice. "Having trouble keeping up?"

"That's hilarious," Daredevil said, trying not to sound insulted. Then, speaking to the darkness: "Sorry to bother you."

A young couple was busy pulling their clothes back on, and gathering up a blanket and a bottle of wine. The woman was holding her dress and the wine with the same hand; Daredevil's radar sense told him that she was struggling to cover her chest with just one arm. When Angel saw them-or her-he must have blushed, given the sudden level of heat in his face.

"Sorry, sir," the guy said. "We're, uh, we're planning on getting engaged, really."

They raced back inside, and Angel struggled to speak for a few moments. _Well, if we run into some seductive super-villainess, I'll have to keep Angel away from her, because he might be...vulnerable in that area._

"Picked the wrong rooftop," Angel muttered.

"This isn't working. I don't think that Halo Knight is trying to hide from us-he wants us to find him-but his thinking is skewed. He's probably off doing something that makes complete sense to him, assuming that we'll figure it out and track him down."

Angel rubbed his jaw. "He's obsessed with this end-of-the-world stuff, so, maybe we should be looking in churches."

"No...I think that religion is just a tool, for him. A means to an end. Underneath all that, he's a man who's given up, and that's what really matters. He wants to lure us to him, and the easiest way to do that is to attack some third party. But it won't be just anyone. He'll pick someone that represents everything he hates-the exact opposite of what he believes in."

"So, some group of people that hasn't given up on life? I don't know, uh, doctors? Firemen?"

"Good thinking, Angel. We should swing by the hospitals and station houses. It'll be someone like that, or someone that's trying to make the world a better place. Philanthropists, social groups, or maybe even other superheroes."

Judging by the noise that Angel's forehead made, he raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, Halo Knight might be crazy, but I don't think he's stupid enough to attack the Baxter Buildi-" Angel suddenly gasped. "There's a hospital fundraiser, tonight! At the Barrington Arms Hotel!"

Daredevil nodded, firing his billy club's cord. "Come on!"

With that, they were off, again. Daredevil didn't know Manhattan as well as Hell's Kitchen, but he had a general idea of the direction that the Barrington Arms was in. Angel was ahead of him, anyway, so he let him lead the way. People once again reacted to them in a positive manner, but Daredevil ignored it. He felt guilty for letting himself enjoy what they were doing. They hadn't just been having fun-they'd stopped some crimes-but if those distractions meant that they didn't get to the hotel in time...

 _For all you know, he isn't even there yet. And the rematch could be in your favor. You know what his powers are like, now, so he's lost the element of surprise. Plus, he might be in rough shape from his tussle with the CIA hitters. But, if he beat them, it means that he's getting better at using his powers in fights. So is Angel, though. And then there's the sanity issue. If he thinks the entire world is out to get him, god only knows what he'll do next._

As they got closer to the hotel, Daredevil started to experience doubt; a hospital fundraiser seemed like the perfect target for Halo Knight, but it was too quiet. A science-criminal attack should have been accompanied by sirens and gunfire. Cop cars should have been keeping pace with them, heading for the same place. Maybe it was a good sign-maybe they'd beat him there.

His radar sense only showed him part of the hotel. It was huge, a towering brick rectangle, and lengths of stone masonry wrapped around it. They were covered with ornate carvings. The doors were far from airtight, and the wind carried scents to him. Floral arrangements, furniture polish, new carpet. Outside, the block was virtually deserved, and inside, the hotel was settling-in-for-the-night quiet. Angel took them to the banquet-room entrance on the side. A large sign was sitting on an easel, next to an open set of double-doors. Daredevil couldn't read it (not without using his fingers, anyway), but he was sure that it advertised the fundraiser. They touched down near the sign, and no one even saw them.

He immediately knew that something was wrong. The old building had thick walls, and they muffled the sounds coming out...but it was strangely quiet, and even an upper-crust gala should have been a _little_ loud.

"So...we just walk right in?" Angel said. "Shouldn't we, I don't know, go through a window or something?"

"He's here. Get ready."

"Wait, how do y-"

Daredevil put a finger to his lips, gripped his billy club tighter, and silently walked inside. Angel drew one of his guns, following.

The first clue: there wasn't any security around. At events like this, off-duty cops moonlit as plainclothes guards. There should have been cops at the door and in the hall. Instead, they'd abandoned their posts. The second clue: workers were hiding in the coat-check room. They smelled like cigarettes, cooking grease, dishwashing chemicals, and sweat. They'd really been hustling to staff this event, but something had scared them off. The third (and most obvious) clue: he could hear Halo Knight ranting.

The straight-line entrance corridor eventually split in two, turning into a circular hallway that hugged the exterior of the banquet room. Daredevil and Angel made an orbit around it. The round hallway was empty, and there wasn't any screaming or gunfire coming from inside the room. Acoustics indicated that it was a large, high-ceilinged space, which was good. That meant that they'd have more room to work with. Judging by the amount of heartbeats he heard, there were at least a hundred people inside. The six sets of double-doors that led into it were closed tight. Halo Knight was in there with them, and Daredevil heard some men in physical distress-they were down on the floor, struggling to get up.

"He's in there...trust me," Daredevil said, his voice barely a whisper. "Right in the middle of the room."

"Uh, okay. How do we play it?"

"We go in from opposite sides, so it's harder for him to attack both of us. We keep him occupied while the bystanders evacuate. We need to draw his fire away from them, but the banquet room is lined with exits, so it'll be tough."

"Isn't that a good thing, though? With more exits, the crowd won't bottleneck when they try to get out, right?"

"With that many people inside, they'll definitely bottleneck. But that isn't the issue. When they run, they'll be running outwards in every direction. There won't be some empty part of the room that we can use as a backstop."

"Wait, a backstop?"

Daredevil nodded. "When Halo Knight shoots at us and-hopefully-misses, those shots will keep going. What will they hit? No matter which direction we turn, we'll have bystanders behind us, so it'll be them. We'll have to keep the fight up high, so his misses hit the ceiling or the upper walls. Then, once the bystanders are gone, we use the entire room and beat him senseless."

Angel said "Got it" started to fly away, but Daredevil put a hand on his shoulder.

"Walk, please-your flapping is a little loud."

The young man probably rolled his eyes (eyeballs made a weird liquid sound; regular glances were sonically identical to eye-rolling), but he definitely nodded.

Six sets of double-doors led into the round banquet room. Daredevil stood at the southern one, waiting for Angel to circle around to the top. He gave him about twenty seconds (the room was massive, so it would take him a bit to get there), took a breath, and kicked the doors open. Daredevil heard Angel push his doors open at the same time.

The pent-up smells nearly knocked Daredevil over...rich food, excessive amounts of cologne and perfume, cigar smoke, and, most of all, the collective panic of the crowd. They were frozen in fear, their bodies sending out invisible distress signals. But only the guards seemed to be down. Everyone else was sitting or standing, apparently uninjured. Elaborate chandeliers held electric lights, but Daredevil could feel the difference between light and darkness, and he could tell that it was dusky in there. Half of the lights were out, and another quarter were flickering. Daredevil smelled a scorch mark on a wall outlet. One of Halo Knight's gravity rings must have accidentally hit the circuit, screwing up the power.

"Finally," Halo Knight said, breathing a little harder than usual. He was still in the center of the room, and Daredevil heard an energy ring in each of his hands. "I was getting tired of waiting for you."

At the sight of the two heroes, a chorus of gasps rippled through the crowd. One elderly woman did a double-take at Angel, probably because of his wings, and nearly fainted.

Halo Knight was hurting: Daredevil could tell from the way he moved, and from the painful sound emanating from his neck. Between Daredevil himself, Angel, and the CIA men, they'd worn him down.

Suddenly, the doors slammed shut; they were heavy, and they did it on their own. Angel jumped a little.

"Let these people go, Halo Knight," Daredevil said. "It's over."

"No, it isn't. If he won't be the light," Halo Knight said, gesturing toward Angel, "then _I_ will. And it won't be over until I kill you."

Halo Knight kept looking back and forth between them, not knowing which way to turn. But he sounded more happy than fearful.

"I finally figured out what this sickness is called, and why the two of you are acting like superheroes. You're all the same. Doctors, idealistic politicians, charity millionaires, costumed saviors. I'm trying to get us to a deity-created paradise-a golden age-but you don't think we need it. You think we can build one on our own. And the two of you want to encourage that, right? That's how I knew you'd come. When you see a problem, you rush in and fix it, because you want to make people think that it's possible to fix _anything._ The real monsters aren't the ones robbing banks, they're the ones providing false hope. Don't you get it? You're selling a watered-down substitute for the real thing...a _silver_ age. Well, it's a mirage, and I'm here to save you from it."

"You know you're crazy, right?" Angel said casually. He was slowly walking toward him, and so was Daredevil, but Halo Knight didn't seem bothered by it.

"This idea of a silver age...it's the nameless disease we've always had. The idol that all of civilization bows down to. The notion that we can save ourselves, and shape our own destinies. We can't! Even in a world with men that can bring down buildings with their fists, and science that can take us to space, it's still impossible. Don't let it trick you!"

Out of nowhere, one of the bystanders threw a mostly-empty plate at Halo Knight's back. Daredevil picked up on it immediately. The throw was fast and accurate, and given how far away it came from, the guy must have been a pitcher in his youth. But, when it was still a good ten feet away from Halo Knight, he jerked in surprise, quickly floating upwards. He never turned his head around to see it; he just seemed to know that it was coming.

Daredevil's first thought: _Wait, does he have some kind of radar sense, too?_ Daredevil's second thought: _He's distracted-USE IT!_

His billy club's cord shot out, wrapping around a chandelier, and he swung at Halo Knight full-speed. At the same time, he felt and heard Angel take flight.

The huge banquet room went from zero to pandemonium in a matter of seconds. Halo Knight started flying around, Daredevil gave him a double-foot kick as he swung by, and the bystanders finally broke, running and screaming. Daredevil landed on a chandelier, retracted his cord, and leapt to a second. He caught it with his hands and swung/flipped on top of it. Halo Knight shot a few energy rings at him (Angel said they were rings, anyway). His aim was better, this time, and Daredevil used the chandelier as a shield, letting the rings hit it before he leapt away. The chandelier crashed down to the floor and left a crater-sized dent.

If they tried to fight him down below, his missed shots would hit the bystanders. Up there, though, there was no one for him to hurt. Except the two of them.

 _Halo Knight wants to kill you, not Angel. You can use that to your advantage. Lead him on a chase, and give Angel a chance to attack him from behind._

Daredevil repeated his previous strategy: he used the new chandelier as a shield, and after Halo Knight shot it, he leapt to another one. Meanwhile, Angel smartly avoided using his fists on Halo Knight. He hit him with his wings instead. Halo Knight would fire a glorified warning shot to scare him off, but he'd go right back to focusing on Daredevil. The room was still in the process of emptying out, and Daredevil stuck to the chandeliers in the middle, as that part of the room was now deserted. But there was a logjam around the four exists; crowds were gathered around the edges of the room. They needed to stay up high for a little longer.

Suddenly, Halo Knight lowered his aim, and Daredevil was afraid that he was going after the bystanders. But that wasn't the case. Instead, he shot at the tables and chairs, causing them to fly upwards...and making it much harder for Daredevil to move between chandeliers.

 _He's gotten better at using his surroundings._

Daredevil fired his billy club's cord, swung low, and arced up to a new chandelier. But he had to curl up tight to avoid getting blindsided by a table. The tables and chairs crashed into the ceiling, and one of the chairs hit Angel, who coughed loudly and spun away. He landed gently on the floor. Halo Knight actually started to go after him-maybe he sensed blood in the water-but Daredevil fired his cord around Halo Knight's ankles, swung up to him from below, and gave him a kick right in the stomach. When Halo Knight tried to shake him loose, Daredevil retracted the cord and used him as a springboard. He landed on a chandelier, but he was starting to run out of them, at least in the middle section of the room...

 _It's time to try something else. In a big space like this, he can fly around all he wants-but remember how awkward Angel was when he was fighting the goons in the office? Maybe I can lure him out into a hallway. Plus, in tighter quarters, I can bounce my billy club off the walls and get him with the ricochets._

Furniture continued to rocket into the ceiling, interspersed with Halo Knight shooting energy rings at him. The chandeliers were going extinct. At one point, Daredevil wasn't in a position to swing from one to another, he needed to leap right to it...but it wasn't exactly close. He waited for a table to come flying up, and he used it as a stepping stone, jumping onto the distant chandelier.

Halo Knight laughed and shouted "And you think _I'm_ the crazy one?"

The room was ninety percent empty; everyone had been brave enough to run away from Halo Knight, but a few had run out of bravery on the way. They were now pressed against the circular wall, afraid to make a break for the doors. One older man seemed strangely calm. He'd lined the wall with the others, but his heartbeat was slow and steady. The older man was urging the others to inch their way toward the doors. A few people had been knocked over in the rush to get out-some were very elderly, some were teenagers that probably hadn't wanted to be there in the first place-and they'd dragged themselves (or been dragged) to the edge of the room. One girl had twisted her ankle when she fell. She was sniffling and breathing quickly, but she wasn't panicking. The guards were nowhere in sight. Apparently, the gravity-effect had worn off, because they'd run away with the others.

One of the six exits was now being ignored. The northern exit led deeper into the building, and most people had used the other five. Of those that used the northern one, they'd circled back around to leave through the building's main entrance, so that part of the hallway was empty. It was the perfect place to lure Halo Knight to.

Halo Knight started to fire energy rings at Daredevil's current chandelier, but Angel flew up from behind, swinging a chair at him. Halo Knight once again seemed to sense it coming, and he darted away so quickly that he accidentally crashed into the ceiling. He cursed and hovered away. Angel pursued him, swinging the chair and shattering it over his head and chest. Halo Knight started to aim at Angel, but Daredevil fired his billy club's cord at him, and it distracted him long enough for Angel to swoop away.

 _Do it._

After retracting his cord, Daredevil leapt down to the floor, backing toward the northern exit. Halo Knight hovered and followed. Instead of shooting at him, he kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting another attack from Angel. Everyone kept their distance from each other. Angel didn't get too close to Halo Knight, and Halo Knight stopped following Daredevil.

 _He's suspicious...he thinks you might be trying to lead him._

Daredevil turned and ran out of the room, hoping that Angel wouldn't think that he was abandoning him. The heavy doors slammed shut. Halo Knight flew after him, reached the doors, _and shot them repeatedly._

"NO!"

Daredevil slammed into the doors shoulder-first, but they were unmovable, now. It was like pushing on a sheer rock wall. Halo Knight took to the air, and Daredevil heard more energy rings hitting the other five doors. Angel was trapped in there with him-and so were the remaining bystanders.

"I'm pretty sure I could beat both of you at the same time," Halo Knight said to Angel, "but I'm not willing to bet humanity's future on it. You didn't know about my door trick, did you? I wanted to get the darkness one-on-one, but this is okay, too. I don't know who or what you are, but I don't care. 'Daredevil' is the real threat, and once you aren't around to help him, my job will be a lot easier."


	17. Issue 2, Chapter 9

It was just him, now.

A '62 Buick Riviera, black and intimidating, shot through New York's neon-infused nightscape. The operative known as Sentinel-3 had one hand on the wheel, while the other was activating the car's built-in police-band scanner. The car was Agency-issue. It had a few bells and whistles, but it was basic compared to the prototype that Stark Industries was working on. One of the prototype's features seemed a little too overt for the CIA. He'd heard rumblings about a new, more public agency, though, so maybe the car would end up with them. Considering who he was up against, he would have given anything to have a flying car.

Sentinel-3 gunned it, swerved through traffic, and listened for anything that might be related to the mutant. The rest of his team had been unable to continue. Some were seriously wounded, and some were still waiting for the mutant's gravity-effect to wear off. Sentinel-3 hadn't been in a position to just sit around and wait. He'd patched up the worst ones, ran to the fastest vehicle they'd brought, and used the car's radio to send a coded message to the local comm-center. Agency clean-up men would extract his team; the FBI would seal the scene.

There wouldn't be any Agency backup coming. Not for a while, anyway. Contrary to popular belief, the CIA mainly did low-level work in America: surveillance, intel drops, black-bag gigs. Not the kind of stuff that they made movies about. Sentinel-3 had done a few elimination jobs in NYC, but they were few and far between. Unfortunately, there wasn't some backup squad of elite assassins sitting around in a Manhattan warehouse, waiting for a call. Groups like that existed, but they were found almost exclusively in war theaters and political hot-zones. Domestic operations usually required a softer touch. The Agency employed a number of hitters, but they were spread all over the world, with not that many being stateside at any given time. Putting a kill-squad together had been tough. Putting a _second_ kill-squad together would be even tougher.

Of the Agency assets that were currently in the city, most of them specialized in infiltration and intelligence. In a pinch, they could be trusted to eliminate a normal target, but they didn't make their living by kicking in doors and getting in firefights. He did. There were other Sentinel-level men, but most of them were overseas. That was where the action usually was. He'd heard rumors that one was tracking down a "serial killer" in L.A., but, even with modern jet-equipped flight, it would take hours for him to get there. And this mutant needed to be put down _now_.

The plan had been sound, and it should have worked. Locate the target, keep him as pinned down/contained as possible (to negate his aerial advantage), and wait for the crossfire to do its work. If it didn't, they had a sniper waiting outside. Assuming that the mutant got away-or that they ran into problems and had to settle for flushing him out-the sniper would get him as soon as he emerged from the building. But it hadn't worked out that way. The mutant was just a civilian, some sickly teenager, but he'd been savvy. Crazy, yes; stupid, no. With powers like that, you didn't _need_ training. Just brains and willpower. They'd underestimated how resourceful he was, and then their idiot sniper had missed. Sentinel-3 had never worked with the man before. There were other, better snipers, but they'd been unavailable, for some reason.

As he drove, he kept stealing glances at the sky...and whenever he hit a stoplight, he took a longer look. But the mutant was nowhere to be seen. Sentinel-3 shifted in his seat, making sure that the gravity-effect had worn off. It had only been a partial hit, but, for the first few minutes, it had taken all of his strength just to remain standing. He'd hidden in a closet, planning to shoot through the door when he heard footsteps close by. But the kid had chosen to book out. Whatever he cared about, it wasn't them.

Sentinel-3 kept hearing the mutant's words in his head. Not just what he'd said about the Sentinel of Liberty program, but the scarier part. "In a few hours, the world will be over, so none of it matters."

 _Was he talking about a nuclear war? He's only been on the loose for a few days, could the Russians have found him and turned him in such a short amount of time? No, no, even the KGB isn't that good. But maybe his mental issues were just a cover for his escape, and he's secretly been working with them for weeks or months. He could be helping them set up some kind of nuclear attack. Or maybe his mental issues are real, but they're taking advantage of them, and tricking him into working with them. Just imagine: they launch on us, but when we try to launch on them, he intercepts some of the missiles. Or maybe he'll shoot a hundred of those gravity rings into the White House and make it fly into space._

When Sentinel-3 sent the coded message to the comm-center, he'd mentioned the mutant's odd statement, but he hadn't heard back yet. Maybe the bosses didn't think that it meant anything, or maybe they were panicking and had no idea what to do.

Suddenly, a panicked voice came across the car's police-band scanner: it sounded like the officer was drowning in static, but Sentinel-3 got the gist of it. He heard "disturbance at the Barrington Arms" and "request immediate backup" and "locked in there with one of those super-freaks."

That was less than ten blocks away. Sentinel-3 floored it, making a hard right.

 _This is ridiculous. I'm finally back in America, I have a chance to start a new chapter in my life, and this nutcase might be trying to blow up the planet._

He was trying not to think about the other stuff that the mutant had said. How he'd never become the new Captain America, how he wasn't the right kind of person for the job. Sentinel-3 had met the other Sentinel candidates, and he knew that they weren't like him: they were younger, and most of them were still in the military. Also, they'd done outright heroic things for their country. So had he, in the past...but, since then, he'd been asked to do more questionable things. Despite that, Sentinel-3 knew that he was the most qualified one. He was _hungrier_ for America than they were. During the years that he'd worked for the Agency, he'd seen too much darkness and ugliness, and it had only reinforced just how important it was to have a symbol of hope.

 _From the looks of it, the sixties are gonna be a chaotic time. There are a lot of painful truths that will have to be dealt with. When people see those truths, they'll be shocked and afraid...the world needs a Captain America that's already dealt with that kind of crap. Somebody that can stare at the monsters without flinching. I've seen the horrors that are hiding in the shadows, and the younger Sentinels haven't. Yeah, the original Cap was a kid, and he was amazing. But that was a lucky break for the military. He was an all-time legend; the average young war hero won't be as good as him. And it isn't fair to expect them to be. You can't take somebody that's barely old enough to drink, give them a mask and a shield, and expect them to deal with all the crazy stuff that's going on. I'm more experienced than they are, but I'm still young enough to handle the physical strain._

When Sentinel-3 pulled up outside the hotel, he pounded the steering wheel, cursing. It was a mess. Tuxedo-clad men and wobbly-in-heels women were pouring out of the building, and the uniformed cops on the scene were either very young or very old. They were waving their arms helplessly. It was against the law to leave the scene of a crime, and they kept saying that, but nobody cared. Sentinel-3 winced. There were too many witnesses around, and god only knew what they'd heard. The mutant could have been spouting off about his work for the space program, or what he was, or whatever the Russians had told him to say. As for the cops, at least they had the good sense to keep their distance. But they wouldn't be much use in a fight.

Sentinel-3 got out of the car, closed the door, and checked his weapons. He had three guns on his person, and he'd thrown more into the trunk. After the battle in the condemned building, well, it was clear that the others wouldn't be needing theirs for a while, so he'd grabbed everything with a mostly-full clip. He needed to go in and kill the mutant before he said anything more.

(Ironically, he was one of the few Agency hitters that didn't hate mutants. In fact, he'd worked with them, in the past. This Battaglia kid wasn't the only mutant that the government employed. A few years ago, Sentinel-3 had been part of an international unit that had carried out an operation on the Russian-Chinese border. The group had included an American mutant, a Canadian mutant, and a German mutant. Amazingly, the German had been the least-crazy one.)

The witnesses/hostages vanished into the night, and the few cops on the scene tried to stop them, but they weren't trying very hard. These were well-to-do white people, they weren't about to slam them against the hood of the nearest car. Sentinel-3 approached the hotel. The cops were distracted, and they didn't have any sort of cordon set up. That would make things a little easier for him. He had a fake FBI badge in his pocket, but he was still in his working-man disguise, and the two didn't really go together. Sentinel-3 might have been able to sell them on the idea that he was undercover; it would have taken too much time, though. While they pled with the socialites, he slipped past them unseen.

Panicky civilians were still coming out of the hotel's main entryway, and it was bathed in light, so he stuck to the shadows, going around the building and down an alley. Sentinel-3 looked for a service entrance. What he found could have been any service entrance in the world: an unsightly, industrial-type door, which was propped open by a tiny wooden wedge. Dead cigarettes were scattered on the ground. He drew one of his guns, peeked through the crack, and silently stepped inside.

A musty employees-only hallway led to a generic door, and lavish corridors were on the other side. Carpet, curtains, oak, brass. On the surface, it was quiet, but he heard muffled chaos coming from somewhere. Sentinel-3 had only taken a few steps when he heard doors slam shut. He walked in the direction of the noises, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

Some sort of electrical problem was spreading through the building: the lights were flickering, and some were actually going out. As he went deeper inside, the problem only got worse. The combination of the noises and the sputtering-or-dead lights created a trail for him to follow. They led him to a large, round room in the center of the first floor; the sign said that it was a banquet room. Given how dressed-up the civilians had been, the mutant had probably crashed some sort of shindig. It sounded like the action was inside. He heard shouts, crashes, and...flapping?

The circular hallway around the room seemed to be empty. Sentinel-3 gently tested one of the doors-predictably, they were unmovable. The mutant had messed with them. Just to be safe, he tested the other doors, as well. They were all as heavy as concrete slabs.

 _Well, now what? The room's in the middle of the building...there aren't any windows to go through. And you'd have to be a real beanpole to fit through the ducts. I could blow up one of the walls and go through the hole, but I'm not sure if that car has any explosives in i-_

Footsteps echoed through the hall.

The lights were practically strobing, now, and it felt like something out of a nightmare. A shadow stretched around one of the curved corners. Sentinel-3 grabbed the person that it belonged to, throwing them against a wall.

It turned out to be one of the cooks. He looked Spanish, and, considering what was going on, he seemed pretty calm. That was good. The socialites had been too terrified to tell the cops anything, but this guy looked like he had a good head on his shoulders.

Sentinel-3 asked him a question in English, and then repeated it in Spanish. He'd been a desert kid, and he'd grown up with a lot of Mexicans, so he'd picked up some of the language. (Sentinel-3 also had some Mexicans further back in his family tree, though his grandparents had always tried to downplay that.)

Before the cook could answer, something metal object hit Sentinel-3 in the side of the head, and he nearly fell over.

"Get away from him."

The cook screamed in terror, running off. Sentinel-3 got his gun back up-he'd been holding it down against his leg, not wanting to scare the witness-but metal exploded against his hand, and he dropped it. He _never_ dropped his weapons. Sentinel-3 reached for his backup pieces, only to be battered by a combination of metal and knuckles. Something jerked the guns away before he could get his hands on them. He lashed out with an elbow, felt it connect, and lurched to safety. Sentinel-3 heard clips pop out and bullets patter onto the floor.

He knew that the mutant was obsessed with Daredevil, so what he saw wasn't a complete surprise, but still...he felt like he was hallucinating. A pale yellow monster with red eyes was standing in the darkening room. His stance was part boxer, part martial artist, and part ready-to-pounce predator. He had a blood-red billy club in his right hand. When viewed against the backdrop of the luxurious hotel, he just seemed stomach-turning and _wrong_ : he didn't belong in this civilized place, or even in reality...

The other heroes were relatively known quantities, at least in terms of their capabilities and power-levels. Daredevil, on the other hand, was a mystery. His CIA file was practically a blank sheet. Was he a bored millionaire playing dress-up, or was he an out-of-control ex-cop, some alcoholic with anger issues? The analysts had a lot of theories. Maybe he was one of the radioactive ones, or maybe he was something more supernatural.

Sentinel-3 shook his head and tried to focus. He pulled out his fake FBI badge, showing it to Daredevil. "Hey, hey, I'm FBI!"

"You're lying."

The quick, confident way that he'd said that...it sent a chill up Sentinel-3's spine. But he kept going. "Look, I don't want to fight you. We're both after the same guy. But you need to cooperate with me, okay?"

Daredevil didn't say anything.

"By authority of the 1942 Samaritan Act, I'm drafting you into service. Got it? You're a powered individual, and even if you aren't an American citizen, or aren't _human_ ,you're still on American soil. That's all it takes. I'm a government operative, and this is an emergency involving an extra-normal threat. I order you to unmask, turn over all relevant information, and assist me."

"If you want to help me, I won't stop you. If we're fighting him, and you have to kill him in self-defense, I still won't stop you. But can you promise me that you won't kill him once he's in custody?"

"I'd never do something like that," Sentinel-3 said.

"Lying again."

 _No, come on. I don't want to want to fight a hero. But I'm here to kill the mutant, and if he's gonna try to keep me from doing my job..._

They lunged at each other. Sentinel-3 made two attempts at punching him, but both were blocked, and Daredevil flip-kicked him in the ribs. Sentinel-3 winced. He tried to kick Daredevil in the head, but he ducked it, giving him an uppercut in retaliation. Sentinel-3 bounced off of a wall. He'd never seen someone move so fast, or use such an eclectic fighting style. It was an unholy combination of boxing, martial arts, and acrobatics.

Sentinel-3 had been trained by some of the hand-to-hand masters that had taught the original Captain America. He'd fought-and killed-a number of men, but it was clear that this was going to be his greatest challenge. Until his rematch with the mutant, anyway.


	18. Issue 2, Chapter 10

People were screaming, he was trapped in a darkening room, Halo Knight was trying to kill him...and his mind was a million miles away.

Angel couldn't focus. He knew what he _should_ be paying attention to, but all he could think about was the bomb that might go off at any second. Unfortunately, it wasn't a real bomb, which would have been much less dangerous. He kept imagining a series of world-changing words, which would come out of Halo Knight's mouth. "I'm a mutant." Or maybe, "There are freaks hiding among you, and the government knew all about it, but they didn't tell you." Something like that could ruin his life. There would be witch-hunts, and if his father was right, there would also be an economic crash, maybe even one powerful enough to disrupt the Worthington empire. What if people figured out that Angel was a mutant? What if they figured out that Warren Worthington III was a mutant? A number of nightmare scenarios were flashing through his mind, driving him to distraction.

He was running on autopilot. The two of them were weaving between the remaining chandeliers, engaged in an indoor dogfight. Halo Knight was chasing him, shooting gravity rings-but only from one hand, because he was using a gravity ring in his other hand to fly. Angel had holstered his rubber-projectile gun. He didn't trust himself to hit a rapidly-moving target; he'd been afraid of shooting Daredevil by accident. Daredevil was gone, now, but his gun was still holstered. Angel wasn't really thinking straight. The room seemed strangely distant, while his fears were right in his face.

It was lucky that Halo Knight "only" wanted to end the world. If he'd just wanted to cause some chaos, a few sentences would have done the trick. The high-society people in the banquet room would have made great witnesses. If _they_ started talking about mutants, it wouldn't be easy for the papers to write them off as kooks. And then everything w-

 _WAKE UP, WARREN!_

Reality crashed over him like a wave. The flickering lights, the bystanders running around below him, the sound his wings made. He was running, not fighting. Halo Knight's aim had gotten better, but, luckily, he was struggling to fly and aim at the same time. He was still a little awkward in the air. The guy was probably good enough to hit normal, walking-around people, but against someone acrobatic like Daredevil, or someone that could fly...

 _It's like Daredevil said: keep the fight up here, so the innocent people don't get hit. All you have to do is finish this lunatic off. Daredevil did his part, the CIA did theirs, and now it's your turn. He should be nice and softened up for you._

Angel acted like he was going to the right, only to suddenly veer to the left...by the time that Halo Knight compensated, Angel had horizontally looped around behind him. He pulled his gun out and shot him in the back. When the rubber projectile hit, it made a meaty, muffled sound, like a prize-fighter slamming his fist into a punching bag. Angel heard Halo Knight grunt, and it knocked him off-course, but he immediately turned around and fired some gravity rings. That was his go-to move, so it wasn't a surprise. When Angel saw him start to turn around, he immediately banked away, and the rings didn't even come close to hitting him.

 _I've only got so many shots in my gun, but his "ammo" is limitless. And his is way more powerful than mine. Getting into a shootout with him is pointless-no, I need to try something different._

Halo Knight was chasing him, again, but Angel felt like he was in control. Though the gravity rings kept coming, they'd hit the spot he'd been a second or two ago. Halo Knight was probably faster in the air, but that was straight-line speed, while Angel was more agile. Unfortunately, the presence of the bystanders complicated things. If not for them, he could have done vertical loops and used the entire room, but he didn't want any stray gravity rings hitting them. Angel glanced down at the bystanders, frowning...

...and, seeming to read his mind, an older man with a mustache started flipping over tables, turning them into shields. Angel didn't know much about old people, but he looked to be in his fifties or sixties. The guy pulled/rolled the tables into a row and herded most of the bystanders behind them. Now, instead of lining the walls, the majority of the people were gathered in one area, and somewhat protected. There were only three of them still exposed. Two elderly people crawled underneath a still-standing table, and a pretty teenage girl remained glued to the wall. From the look on her face, she wanted to join the larger group, but she was limping.

 _You have to open it up and get into a full-on dogfight with him. If they get hit with a heavy-gravity ring, well, they're stuck anyway, so it doesn't really matter. If they go flying up to the ceiling, you'll just have to catch them before they hit it._

Angel dove, looped, and literally flew circles around Halo Knight. Halo Knight could get dizzy; Angel couldn't. Also, Halo Knight's neck seemed stiff, and it was tough for him to keep his head on a swivel. This was Angel's second time fighting Halo Knight in the air, and he'd learned a few things about taking angles. He cut off Halo Knight and slammed into him shoulder-first. As a fighter, Angel was still figuring out how to put force behind his attacks, but as a flier, he had all the momentum in the world, so it was just a matter of ramming into him. Halo Knight cried out and went flailing away. The lunatic eventually regained control of his flight, swooped around, and opened fire. Angel banked right, leading him away from the gathered bystanders.

One of the stray gravity rings hit a chandelier, and it crashed down. It didn't hit anyone, but the room was getting darker all the time-and as good as Angel's eyesight was, he couldn't see in the dark.

 _You have to beat him before the lights go out. And before he says anything about...no, come on..._

Angel tried to intercept him, again, but Halo Knight kept his distance. He was still shooting, but he seemed to be more conscious of getting hit. Angel buzzed all around him, flew low and high, and made loops that were horizontal, vertical, and everywhere in-between. Halo Knight tried to circle around behind him, but he couldn't do it. He was just running himself ragged. Angel saw him shake his head in a disoriented way, and he suddenly stopped and hovered in place. It seemed crazy, but, Angel knew that he had to go Kamikaze on him. He flew on a collision-course. Halo Knight shot at him the whole time, of course, but Angel zigged and zagged. Chasing was better than being chased. This way, you could at least see the attacks that were coming at you. Halo Knight remained in place, apparently confident that he'd shoot him before he got there...but it didn't happen, and he hovered to the side at the last moment. As Angel passed, he shot him with his gun and smacked him with his wing.

Halo Knight fell, landing on a table, but it wasn't as forceful as it should have been. He'd slowed himself down at the last second. Angel swooped toward him, aiming...only for a table to hit him right in the wings. Earlier, Halo Knight had made some of the tables and chairs fly up, and the effect had worn off. They were coming back down.

Angel felt a surge of pain when the table hit him, and he felt a second surge when he hit the floor (with the table still on top of him). The room seemed to tilt. His back and wings hurt, but nothing seemed to be damaged; for as light as they were, his wings were incredibly durable. Angel kept the table on his back, using it as a shield. He got to his feet, looked up, and saw that Halo Knight was back in the air, _floating right in the middle of the falling furniture._ None of it was hitting him, but he didn't seem to be using his powers on it.It was as if he could sense it coming down. Halo Knight seemed to be as surprised by this as he was, because he was laughing in amazement.

"Oh my god, I can feel it...the motion, or..."

 _STOP TALKING!_

Angel fired without consciously aiming, and his shot hit Halo Knight in the forehead. His helmet's speaker became garbled. But it also distracted him, which resulted in him getting hit by a pair of chairs. Halo Knight groaned and flew away from the wooden storm.

Most of the heavier furniture had finished coming down, it was now shattered chairs and broken table-legs that were clattering to the floor. It was clear enough for Angel to attack. He prepared to charge at Halo Knight, again, only to see a table out of the corner of his eye. It was falling on the other side of the room, but the girl was right underneath it. The banquet room's tables were like the tables at his family's estate: they were big, heavy, monstrous things. It probably weighed more than she did. He wanted to shut Halo Knight up, he wanted to crash into him and shoot him in the helmet some more, but he knew what he had to do.

Angel holstered his gun and took off, dodging the remaining debris. He covered dozens of feet in a matter of seconds. Without even thinking about it, he straightened/stiffened his posture, making himself more aerodynamic. The girl was trying to limp clear, but she wasn't going to make it. She was a pale redhead, and her blue eyes were a perfect match for her dress, which she was in the process of outgrowing. Angel was focused on the task at hand, but he couldn't help but notice that her curves were really straining against the fabric. Naturally, he grabbed her at the last second, literally sweeping her off of her feet. Behind them, the table shattered against the floor and exploded into thick shards of wood. The girl clamped onto him with both her arms and legs. When she realized that she'd done this, her skin almost turned the same color as her hair.

The girl panted and said "Guh, guh, guh," which Angel translated as "Thank you, Mr. Superhero." He carried her across the banquet room, keeping one eye on Halo Knight. Everyone's favorite madman was clutching his neck, muttering to himself, and hovering by gaudy purple drapes. (The room didn't have any windows, but a series of oversized decorative drapes stretched all the way from the ceiling to the floor.)

Angel dropped her off with the other bystanders. He tried to, anyway: she was still clinging to him (not that he was complaining), and the old man with the mustache practically had to pull her off. Once she was back on the floor, the old man slapped him on the shoulder and pointed at the distant Halo Knight. "We've got her, go, go! Don't take your eyes off him for a second!"

The old man was tall and strong-looking, and he had an authoritative voice. Angel found himself doing what he said. His parents had taught him to respect his elders, but this was something different...

He was back in the air, now, and he flew low along the floor, snatching two of the chairs that were still upright. Halo Knight was also on the move; he started firing gravity rings at him. Angel had a plan. Halo Knight was using their surroundings, so he would, too. And he could be more physical than Halo Knight was. Halo Knight was great at this energy stuff, but he was already banged up, so maybe a few more big hits would finish him off.

Angel got close, barrel-rolling to avoid gravity rings. He threw both chairs at Halo Knight. Halo Knight shot them, of course, but they cleared a path for Angel, who was right behind them. Before Halo Knight could fire another gravity ring, Angel gave him a second shoulder-ram and a second wing-swat. Halo Knight flipped head over heels, flinching, but it didn't stop him from firing more gravity rings. Angel swooped toward the floor, getting ready to grab more chairs. Instead, the room leapt up and hit him in the face, and he found himself sprawled amongst pieces of wood.

 _Oh my god, oh my god. I'm dead! I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead-_

He hadn't seen the one that got him. Angel tried to push himself up, but he wasn't strong enough. He felt like he weighed a million pounds.

 _If I can't fly, I'm useless. That's the only real advantage I have. I don't know how to fight, I don't know anything about criminals..._

Finally, pushing with his arms _and_ his wings, he somehow managed to get to his knees. It must have been a direct hit, so he had no idea how he was doing it. He'd seen Daredevil get hit, last night, and he'd been completely pinned down.

 _It's science, dummy. Thanks to your wings, you have more mass than most people, right? With more 'ground' to cover, his gravity rings are spread a little thinner. So they won't affect you as strongly._

Halo Knight landed roughly ten feet away, laughing. "I knew I'd get you eventually."

Angel drew one of his guns, but it was the wrong one: he was holding the knockout gas gun, not the rubber-projectile gun. With Halo Knight's helmet, it wouldn't have any effect on him. He couldn't grab the other gun; he was using that arm to hold himself up. Angel aimed the knockout gas gun, bluffing, and holding his breath.

"You're a false light," Halo Knight said. Judging by the way that he was walking, he wasn't in great shape, himself, right now. But he wasn't the one stuck to the floor. "You were sent here to trick me-to keep me from completing my mission."

 _If I drop this gun and try to grab the other one, he could shoot me before I got it out of its holster._

"Come on, that 'angel' thing is just a disguise, isn't it? You're probably dark and twisted inside. Whatever you are, you're a freak."

 _No, no, don't say the m-word..._

Halo Knight shot another gravity ring at him, and Angel fired a gas-filled sphere. Amazingly, the two projectiles hit each other, and the sphere flew up, crashing into the ceiling. It burst into gas. Halo Knight fired a second gravity ring, and Angel somehow repeated the trick.

Angel actually laughed. He'd known that he had enhanced eyesight, but he'd just now realized that his mind was able to quickly process motion, as well. That made sense. Without amazing reflexes, he would have been a stain on the side of some building, by now. Those traits were birdlike, and they combined to give him incredible natural aim. He'd been trying so hard, overthinking it, but when he let go and went with his instincts...

Halo Knight screamed and fired a gravity ring from each hand. Angel once again canceled them out, with one gas-sphere going up and one going down. The one that went down created a cloud between them. Halo Knight couldn't see him, now, and though he fired a number of rings, they went wild. Angel ducked down, just to be safe. But he also (weakly) flapped his wings to push the cloud toward Halo Knight. He was enveloped in it, now. Halo Knight was protected from the gas, but he couldn't see, and he was forced to fly away from the cloud.

Angel shifted his body and turned, tracking him with his eyes. He only had one gas-sphere left. Sure, he could switch to the other gun, but he was running low on ammo in that one, too. Angel still couldn't stand up. He'd only been hit by one ring, so the gravity-effect would wear off in a few minutes, but Halo Knight would kill him before then. He tried to think of a way to buy a little time...

...and then he noticed all the pieces of wood that surrounded him, the furniture that had broken when it fell back down, and he realized that he already had what he needed.

Halo Knight landed a dozen feet away from the cloud, but some of the gas was still clinging to him. He waved it away with his arms. Halo Knight then aimed both hands at Angel, launching a series of rings.

Angel had already put his gun away. Without taking his eyes off of Halo Knight, he'd felt around on the floor, grabbing the largest piece of wood he could find. It ended up being a nearly-intact table leg. The thing was roughly the length of a baseball bat, but at least twice as thick. He held it like a bat, and when the first ring got close, he swung the table leg at it. It was a perfect hit. The table leg became buoyant, yanking him to his feet. Warren tucked his wings in as much as he could, threw himself to the side, and dodged the other rings. He still felt heavy, but the pull from the table leg was keeping him upright.

It had come to him in an instant: Halo Knight wouldn't want to create another cloud that got in the way, so his next rings would be anti-gravity ones. If they'd hit Angel's body, he would have crashed into the ceiling and been stuck up there, instead. But if just one of them hit an object that he was holding, and he could use it to move around...

For a moment, Halo Knight was too surprised to do anything, but he quickly recovered, sweeping one hand and firing a horizontal arc of rings. Angel turned sideways to make himself a thinner target, and he used the table leg to block the ring that would have hit him. He felt like he was holding a magic sword: the table leg was pulsing with energy, jumping in his hands. And now it was trying to pull him _into the air_. With two anti-gravity rings having hit it, it really wanted to rocket straight up, but he was pulling it down.

Halo Knight froze up. He clearly wanted to shoot more rings, but that seemed to be helping Angel, right now. "Uh-"

Angel smiled and jumped at him, flying without his wings. Halo Knight didn't seem to know what to do. He aimed with his hands, changed his mind, and then shielded himself. Angel's flight was only a momentary one; his body-weight (minimal as it was) dragged the table leg back toward the floor. As he landed, he brought the table leg down on Halo Knight's arms, but it took considerable effort to make it go in that direction. A new thought popped into his head. From that point on, he only swung it up or side-to-side, going "with the grain" as much as he could. It was much easier that way...and he was shocked at how quickly he was able to swing it. Without gravity to slow it down, it moved like lightning. Angel hit him, and hit him, and hit him again. He aimed for his neck as best he could, but he frequently missed and got his helmet. It wasn't an easy weapon to control-its speed made it "slippery," somehow.

After a few helmet-hits, Angel expected the table leg to splinter, but it held up. Halo Knight seemed temporarily helpless. If he couldn't shoot his rings, what could he do? That was the only tool in his toolbox.

 _Yeah, now it's your turn to feel useless, buddy._

One swing nearly knocked Halo Knight to the floor, and he used his newfound distance from Angel to break off and fly toward the ceiling. Angel followed him using a combination of the table leg and his wings. His body was starting to feel lighter, but it wasn't completely normal, yet.

Halo Knight flew up into the darkness. That made Angel a little nervous-his enhanced vision helped him deal with range, but not a lack of light-but he was able to follow the silver gravity ring that Halo Knight was holding. They hugged the wall and flew around the circular room. Finally, Halo Knight turned and fought, firing gravity rings. Angel simply dodged them, this time. If they were the heavy-gravity kind, well, he didn't want them hitting his wooden lifeline. Halo Knight advanced on him, and Angel fell back. His wings made one of the giant decorative drapes ripple. Angel glanced at it, grabbed it, and ripped as hard as he could. The fabric tore easily enough. He kept forgetting how strong he was; his wings worked his entire body, and while he'd never be tossing cars around, he was probably as powerful as an Olympic weightlifter.

As Halo Knight shot a new volley of rings at him, Angel threw the massive drape at him. It had been cinched up with something, but it broke loose, and it unfurled and spread out in the air. In moments, it was as wide as a wall. The rings hit it, but it was big, and they didn't seem to affect it. The whole thing fell on Halo Knight like a net. It plummeted to the floor, dragging him with it, and Angel heard him bounce.

 _Gotcha._

Angel landed on the mound of fabric, looking for the moving lump that was Halo Knight. When he found him, he brought the table leg down on him...but, even though the anti-gravity effect wasn't as strong as it had been, it was still a challenge to swing it all the way to the floor. He didn't hit him as hard as he'd wanted. The lump had been squirming; it suddenly took off like a rocket. Halo Knight was flying underneath the drape. Angel followed him, finding it easier to keep pace. His body was back to normal.

Halo Knight shot out from under the drape, bounced off of a few tables and chairs...and ended up landing near the gathered bystanders. Angel heard gasps, shouts, and curses.

 _No-_

"Surrender, freak." Halo Knight pointed one hand at Angel, but the other was pointed at the bystanders, who were sitting ducks.

Angel let go of the table leg. He drew both guns, aiming them at the lunatic.

"There are only two people that I want to kill," Halo Knight said, breathing heavily. When heard through the electronic filter of his helmet, that panting sounded extremely creepy. "There's already been too much suffering on this stupid planet...that's why I'm doing this. I don't want to make it worse. But, in a few more hours, all of these people will be dead anyway, and in a better place. If you don't surrender right now, I'll just send them there a little early."

Angel grimaced. He really wished that Daredevil was there-he would have known exactly what to do. "None of this makes sense," Angel said. "I mean, you hate all this suffering, but you want to _end the world,_ which will result in everybody getting killed? Come on!"

"No, no, it's the _only_ thing that makes sense. The end of the world will be quick and painless. We won't die, we'll just pass to the higher realms. But, god, if you make me hurt people, if you make me kill them..."

There was a little desperation in Halo Knight's voice...Angel didn't like that...

"You want a hostage, spaceman?" The old man with the mustache slowly stepped forward. He seemed calm, and his arms were slightly raised, his open palms showing that he wasn't holding any weapons. "You can use me to get past the heroes. We can fly away from here, and then you can decide what you want to do next."

Halo Knight glanced at the old man. He was powerful-looking, and a head taller than the would-be hostage-taker. "No, I don't want you, I want the girl."

The old man chuckled. "We don't always get what we want," he said.

Halo Knight started to walk toward the other bystanders-if he flew, he'd only be able to aim one gravity ring, not two-but the old man stepped in his path.

"Get out of my way!"

Amazingly, the old man didn't even flinch. "You've got one hero in here, one outside, and this place is probably surrounded by cops. For all you know, the Fantastic Four could be on the way. Yeah, sure, go ahead and waste time picking your favorite hostage. I bet that'll really help, spaceman."

Angel's mind raced. If Halo Knight started shooting, he was pretty sure that he could stop one or two of the hostages from hitting the ceiling-but not more than that.

 _These people are expecting you to be a superhero. You can't give in, you have to call his bluff._

Angel suddenly found himself walking forward. It seemed like someone else was doing it, and not him. As he walked, he kept pointing his guns at Halo Knight, getting ready to shoot him in the neck. One shot to distract him, and then he'd swoop in and attack again.

As it turned out, though, just getting closer was enough to distract him. Halo Knight did a double-take, screaming at him to get away. He never saw the old man slip something out of his sleeve. The old man got behind him, clamped a hand down on his shoulder, and stabbed him with something silver and shiny.

"Welcome to New York, punk."

There was a sound like a butcher's knife sinking into a wooden block. Angel expected blood to come pouring out, but there was only a small trickle of crimson. Halo Knight screamed, and he spun around, swinging the energy rings that he was holding. The old man deftly jumped back. Angel jumped/flew forward, landed, and shot Halo Knight point-blank in the neck. The hard-rubber projectile fell to the floor; Angel saw the old man smile.

Halo Knight cried out in pain, clutched his neck, and erratically took flight. He turned back as he flew, launching a volley of gravity rings at him. There were too many for Angel to cancel out with his remaining ammo. Instead, he dropped his guns and grabbed the nearest table with both hands, flipping it over and using it as a shield. It was heavy, but he was strong. The rings didn't make any noise, but they must have hit it, because it tried to leap out of his hands. Angel gritted his teeth and hung on.

Then, in an insanely casual way, the old man walked past him and started throwing more of those shiny silver blades. Angel peeked past the edge of the table. Halo Knight was over a dozen feet away, but the old man hit him dead-on. Each blade was about the length of a pen, flat, and maybe two or three inches in width. (When Angel saw what they resembled, he nearly let go of the table by accident.) The blades made "thunk" noises when they embedded in Halo Knight's Space Age padding. There wasn't any blood, this time, but Halo Knight retreated, heading for the doors.

Halo Knight was flying top-speed at the set of double-doors, and Angel thought that he might "splat" right against them. But the heavy-gravity effect had worn off. The doors slammed open, and Halo Knight vanished.

Angel let go of the table. It crashed into the ceiling, but he ignored it, picking up his guns.

"Good work, son." The old man was staring at the doorway, a blade in one hand, but Halo Knight didn't come back in.

"Who are you? Why are those little blades shaped like-"

"-like feathers?" The old man chuckled, again. He reached for Angel's hand: not to shake it, but to hand him all of the rubber-projectile ammo he'd shot at Halo Knight, which the old man had apparently gathered up. "I'm Dr. Thomas Halloway. I was a surgeon, a detective, and the _original_ Angel. But there'll be time for that later. That little punk is getting away, and you need to go grab him!"


	19. Issue 2, Chapter 11

He'd done everything he could to keep the two halves of his life separate. Matt Murdock operated within society, and Daredevil operated outside of it. Daredevil was important, and necessary, but Matt didn't want his vigilantism infecting the law. So, for the last few months, he'd spent half of his existence in the shadows, because he didn't want to corrupt the society that he was trying to protect. It was difficult, and painful, but he'd done it.

And now he'd come across this CIA hitman. The man was surely following government orders, but those orders were completely illegal. As a defense attorney, Matt knew that there was corruption in the system, but this was different. This part of the government was simply outside of the law. It frustrated him-it made him feel like all of this was for nothing. He'd bent over backwards to keep his hands clean, and now he was dealing with a group that didn't even feel guilty enough to wear masks.

The CIA man was relentless. After the initial shock of seeing a "devil man" had worn off, he'd really gone on a tear. The man punched, kicked, used his elbows and knees, and occasionally tried to grab him. It was all Daredevil could do to block his attacks. He wanted to backflip away, and create some distance between them, but the CIA man never gave him an opportunity. His constant attacks made it impossible.

Daredevil was focused on him...but he was also focused on Angel, who was stuck in the banquet room. It sounded like he was just avoiding Halo Knight's attacks, right now, but he'd eventually have to take the fight to him. Daredevil hoped that Angel could hold his own until he got in there to back him up.

The CIA man swung at him, and Daredevil blocked it. He ducked a second swing, sidestepped a third, and spun away from a kick. Daredevil flinched away from a backhand and leapt over a sweep kick. The CIA man feinted right, punching instead with his left hand, but his shoulders gave him away, as did the sound his tendons made. Daredevil blocked him yet again. The man was exerting himself, but his heartrate was steady. He was conditioned well. He was also strong, fast, relatively young, and big.

Many of the criminals Daredevil fought had been in the War, so they knew a thing or two about fighting and killing, but this was different. The CIA man was using a ninja-like style, which was (almost) unheard of in America. Daredevil had thought that he was the only one. And the man moved in a comfortable, experienced way. Stick had trained Daredevil for years, but he'd only been a vigilante for the last few months; he had a feeling that this hitman had been active for much longer than that. Other than Stick, he was the most proficient fighter that he'd ever gone up against. Was he another Westerner that had mastered Eastern martial arts? Was he from Asia? Daredevil had no idea-he couldn't see what color he was.

 _You aren't dealing with some drunk, out-of-shape goon, this time. His training was probably as good as yours, and he seems more seasoned than you. Look at his reactions, his footwork, his breathing. He knows what he's doing. Unless you want to end up sharing a secret jail cell with some Russian spies-or dead-you need to get off the ropes and find out how good you really are._

The next time that the CIA man tried to punch him, Daredevil blocked the attack with his billy club. He heard bone strike metal. The CIA man yanked his hand back, hissing in pain, and Daredevil went to work.

Daredevil feinted with the billy club, kicking him in the face. A second kick exploded into the CIA man's stomach. Daredevil swung at him, and his opponent blocked it, but that opened him up for a billy club "uppercut," which caught him right underneath the jaw. The CIA man somehow stayed on his feet. He lunged for Daredevil, hands grasping-he must have been a wrestler in his youth-but Daredevil grabbed him and flipped him. He broke some dainty little table that had a vase of flowers on it.

The CIA man rolled away, immediately springing to his feet. Daredevil swung his billy club at him, but he dodged it, and Daredevil received a punch in the ribs. The CIA man flinched away from a kick. Daredevil couldn't see his eyes, but he was sure that he was looking at his guns, which were on the floor...with Daredevil blocking them off. He'd already popped the clips, emptying them. Normally, that would have been enough, but against someone like this? He might be skilled enough to dive for the gun and bullets, get one in, and make the shot count, all before Daredevil could stop him.

 _I need to move the fight away from his weapons._

The timing was eerie: right as Angel went on the attack in the banquet room (Daredevil heard him shoot Halo Knight with one of those rubber projectiles), Daredevil went after the CIA man, pressing him backwards. The CIA man was able to block some of his attacks, but not all of them. Daredevil connected with a punch, had a billy club swing blocked, elbowed him in the side of the head, had a punch blocked, and had a kick _caught_. He yanked his leg free before the CIA man could flip him. Daredevil's instincts had been correct; this guy didn't even seem fazed, so he was definitely battle-tested.

 _He may be used to fighting enemy spies, but I bet that he's never taken on someone like me._

Daredevil threw his billy club. It ricocheted around the hallway, and the CIA man hesitated, tensing up. Daredevil left his feet, flipping over him. He kicked him as he went. The CIA man stumbled, trying for a punch, but Daredevil was already back in the air. He caught his billy club, landing behind his opponent. The CIA man spun, ducking, but Daredevil swung his billy club low, and it clipped his head. This time, the CIA man launched at him and seized him in a bear-hug. He slammed Daredevil into the wall. Daredevil head-butted him, stomped down on his foot, and broke loose.

The CIA man tried to get back to his weapons-Daredevil grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and yanked on him, combining it with a knee to the stomach. (That was the great thing about super-suits: civilian clothes were covered with things that you could grab, and they were usually a little loose. Super-suits were smooth and skintight.) The CIA man hunched over, apparently in pain...but it was a trick. When Daredevil got close to him, he immediately straightened back up. The CIA man gave him an open-handed blow to the face, nearly toppled him over with a kick, and tried to grab his wrist for an arm-breaking maneuver. Daredevil escaped, backflipping away. If he'd been capable of sight, he would have been seeing stars, he was sure.

The CIA man once again tried to get past him (and back to his weapons). This time, he faked one way and went the other, like a running back making a cut. But Daredevil caught his upper arm as he went by, using his momentum to swing him into a side-room. It was some sort of executive lounge. The room had small tables surrounded by chairs, a billiards table, and a wet bar. There was a mirror behind the bar. He heard the CIA man knock over a table and chairs, scrambling to his feet.

Daredevil could still hear Angel, as well-he'd been smacking Halo Knight around, but he'd also gotten hit by some large object. Probably a table. A girl was screaming, and it sounded like Angel was on his way to rescue her.

 _I hate this. The whole point of being Daredevil is to be able to_ _ **do**_ _something, and not just be a bystander. But I can't do anything to help Angel, right now...and even if I beat this guy, the doors could still be stuck..._

The moment that Daredevil entered the room, the CIA man started throwing chairs at him. He didn't waste time picking them up first, he simply grabbed their seats, aimed, and flipped them into the air. It was an interesting approach. The CIA man was big and strong-he only needed his upper-body strength to do that trick. Daredevil ducked the chairs, gradually getting closer his enemy. Then, the CIA man paused by the billiards table, grabbing some balls and flinging them at him. Daredevil flipped and spun in the air, dodging them. That was something that _he_ usually did. He tended to be the one improvising, not his enemies. It was a new experience for him.

Finally, the CIA man was backed into a corner, by the bar. He naturally broke a pair of bottles and wielded them like knives. The CIA man still seemed calm, but Daredevil could feel anger boiling within him. Part of it came from being unable to help Angel. Part of it came from how this man was getting in his way, and wasting his time. But Daredevil also hated everything that he represented: namely, that the government and the military sometimes chose to break the law, as opposed to protecting it.

Daredevil heard himself growling...

The CIA man circled the bar, keeping it between them. He shot an arm across it, slashing with one of the broken bottles, but Daredevil shattered the remaining glass with his billy club. The CIA man dropped the neck and jerked his hand away from the shards. Before he could do anything with the other bottle, Daredevil threw his billy club, got the perfect ricochet, and shattered it, as well. The bar was lined with stools; Daredevil threw one of them at the mirror behind the bar-and when an avalanche of glass came down, distracting the CIA man, Daredevil vaulted across the bar, kicking him right in the face.

Daredevil started to finish him off, but he suddenly heard Angel cry out and hit the floor. One of those energy-things must have gotten him. Now, he was the one that was distracted, and the CIA man escaped from the corner, getting out amongst the tables. The CIA man clearly thought about making a break for his guns, but he seemed hesitant to turn his back on Daredevil. Instead, he just kept backing up, inching toward the door.

 _Angel is in trouble-you need to get this over with._

Daredevil aimed, throwing the billy club right at the CIA man's forehead...

...and he proceeded to catch it.

The CIA man looked at the billy club, gripping it firmly, and his face made a smiling noise. (Frowns involved more muscles; they were louder.)

 _Great job, Matt._

Seconds later, the CIA man came at him, swinging the billy club. Daredevil ducked it. The CIA man continued to attack, and Daredevil sidestepped, dodged, flipped, and spun, refusing to be attacked by his own weapon. After two of the misses, Daredevil managed to strike him as he passed by, punching him in the ribs and kicking him in the lower back. But it wasn't enough to get him to drop it.

In the banquet room, Halo Knight was ranting, and Daredevil heard Angel's heartbeat go from "sheer panic" to "scared but under control." He also heard Angel's fingers wrap around some wooden object.

 _Just hold out for a few more minutes, buddy._

They were surrounded by tables, and Daredevil leapt up on one of them, standing upright and kicking the CIA man across the face. He swung the billy club at him, but Daredevil hopped over it and landed on another table. The CIA man was now in an awkward position-his attacks were level with Daredevil's lower legs. There wasn't as much mass for him to target, and it was easy for Daredevil to jump over his swings. He tried overturning the tables, but Daredevil would just jump to another one, kicking him as he went.

So, after a frustrating ten seconds, the CIA man leapt up on a table, as well. Daredevil jumped to a new table, and the CIA man followed him. These tables were smaller than the ones in the banquet room, and they tipped and wobbled when someone landed on them; the CIA man looked like he was trying to ride a surfboard. Daredevil smiled. This man was an excellent fighter, but he didn't seem like an acrobat. On the floor, they seemed to be evenly-matched...up here, though, Daredevil had the advantage.

The two of them were now sharing the same table, barely fitting on it, and the CIA man seemed hesitant to shift his weight enough to attack. But Daredevil was pure grace. He utilized close-combat moves, elbows and open-hand thrusts, things that didn't require much windup. The CIA man tried to grapple with him, but Daredevil pushed off and jumped to another table. The previous table rocked, nearly tipping over, and the CIA man followed him.

 _That's right...you're bigger than I am, and I'm acting like I_ _ **don't**_ _want to wrestle, so please try it again..._

He fell for it. The CIA man planted his feet on the table, grabbing at him with his free hand-and Daredevil grabbed for the billy club. In moments, they were engaged in a tug-of-war. The table rocked back and forth, but Daredevil was completely comfortable, while the CIA man's heartbeat was jerky. Daredevil wasn't trying to pull the billy club away, he was just waiting for the right moment. After about ten seconds, one end of the billy club was pointed at the CIA man's head, and Daredevil hit the grapple-cord button.

The metal stud on the end of the cord hit the CIA man upside the head and bounced off of the flat ceiling. It had to hurt, but he was also surprised, and the combination of the two caused to loosen his grip for just a split-second. It was all that Daredevil needed. He wrenched the billy club loose, simultaneously kicking him off of the table.

Angel was now hitting Halo Knight with the wooden object-Daredevil had no idea how he was on his feet already-

Daredevil partially retracted the cord, and then he used it like a whip, trying to snag the CIA man. But his enemy rolled underneath a table to avoid it, launching out from the other side. He sprinted out of the room, presumably heading for his guns, and Daredevil fully retracted the cord and chased him.

It was even darker than before: the vast majority of the lights had gone out. Thanks to the darkness, the CIA man had a little trouble finding his gun, but not much. His head inclined toward it right away. Daredevil was pretty sure that he could attack him before he had time to grab it, load it, and use it, but it'd be close. As the CIA man made a beeline for his weapons, a third party got in his way. Some young patrolman had decided to play hero. He came dashing in, waving his own gun around like a party-favor, and he told the CIA man to "Fuh-fuh-freeze!" The CIA man casually disarmed him and knocked the wind out of him. He then resumed running, firing behind him as he went, and Daredevil vanished into the shadows.

The CIA man only wasted three bullets. After that, he flattened himself against a wall, holding the gun straight out. The CIA man went still and silent, tilting his head. He was listening. After making sure that the cop was okay, Daredevil started to stalk the CIA man. Stick had taught him how to avoid making noises that were audible to normal people. In addition to his training, there was also the fact that he was on thick, expensive carpet, which made his task easier.

After a moment, the CIA man crouched down, using one hand to grab a gun and a few bullets. But he'd need both hands to load it. And his bullets weren't the same caliber, so he couldn't use them to reload the gun that he was holding. The CIA man stood back up and continued to listen.

In the banquet room, Halo Knight was trying to use a hostage to get away, but the older man was getting close to him, and Daredevil thought that he knew what would happen next...

Daredevil threw his billy club. It knocked the gun out of the CIA man's hand, causing it to fire in the process, and he rushed in and attacked. Daredevil hit him with a flying kick. But the CIA man used the empty gun as a club, and Daredevil had to work to avoid it. Daredevil caught his billy club, used it to parry the gun, and kicked his legs out from under him. The CIA man rolled clear right as the old man said "Welcome to New York, punk." Daredevil was shocked. He'd expected the old man to distract him, but shivving him prison-style?

The two of them circled each other.

"I gave you an order," the CIA man said.

"You're disgusting-you should be protecting the system, not perverting it," Daredevil said.

The CIA man seemed to hesitate...

Halo Knight was trying to get away: Daredevil heard him heading for one of the sets of double-doors. The doors crashed open, and when the CIA man glanced behind him, Daredevil flip-kicked him in the head, smashed his billy club into his shoulder, and flipped him flat on his back. He then raced after Halo Knight, who was awkwardly flying down the hallway.

Daredevil winced as he ran. The CIA man had really pounded on him, and pain was shooting up and down his entire body. He'd gotten spoiled. Daredevil had been getting into it with crooks for the last few months, but as more of his old training came back to him, it got to where they struggled to lay a glove on him. This was the first true equal he'd gone up against. It was sort of a good feeling, though. He'd heard football players talk about the first big hit of a game. Once it was out of the way, and you were still upright, you knew that you could take the punishment.

Halo Knight's...spacesuit or whatever it was was punctured, now, and Daredevil had his scent. As expected, he didn't smell any fear. Halo Knight was injured, and on the run, but he had a zealot-like focus on his mission. Daredevil heard him muttering to himself. Something about remembering a building, and that he needed to get there.

Angel shot out of the banquet room. Daredevil was ahead of him, but, thanks to his wings, Angel caught up to him in no time.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Angel said, "but you aren't gonna believe who I just m-"

"We can't let him get away again!"

Halo Knight flew through the open doors that led outside, and Daredevil heard a chorus of shouts from the crowd. He used his senses (and contextual clues) to identify them: there were cops, people that had fled the hotel, random lookie-loos, and a few newspaper photographers. The cops drew their weapons and shouted at people to get down; the wealthy socialites screamed that he was coming after them again; the morbidly-curious citizens couldn't have been more excited; the photographers fumbled with their cameras and cursed under their breath.

This time, Halo Knight ignored the crowd, flying right over them. The cops started to raise their weapons to fire, but they hesitated at the last moment. They'd be shooting up, and they were surrounded by office buildings and fancy apartments...if they missed, which seemed likely, they'd be spraying bullets into the second-story-and-higher windows.

When the crowd saw the two heroes, they collectively gasped. The cops seemed to relax. Daredevil fired his grappling cord, swinging to a cornice that was halfway up a building, and then he fired it again, getting all the way to the roof. Angel easily kept pace with him. Halo Knight was flying above the rooftops, and they were downwind of him. Daredevil was currently tracking him via radar, sound, and scent. He was determined not to lose him, this time.

Halo Knight had to know that they were right behind him...but he didn't seem to care. He was zeroed in on something, without a doubt, to the point that nothing else mattered. Daredevil suddenly realized that Halo Knight's overall plan had a hole in it. Not just the obvious "If you're actually right, billions of people will die" part, but a fundamental error in its logic. He couldn't believe that he hadn't seen it before.

Their enemy was completely focused on his mission, and completely unaware of the problem with it. As Daredevil ran across New York's rooftops, hot in pursuit, he grunted in frustration. They were dealing with a blind man.

 _ **To be concluded...**_


	20. Issue 3, Prologue

_Come on, you're almost there. You only have to stay alive for a few more hours. Get to that building, kill the darkness that's calling itself 'Daredevil,' end the world, and shepherd these people to a better place._

It was the middle of the night, and Halo Knight was flying over New York City. Paul had literally been stabbed in the back, Daredevil and Angel were in hot pursuit, and he heard sirens far below...but he honestly didn't care about any of that, right now.

A sea of buildings stretched out beneath him, and he found himself thinking about the people in them. Did they know how futile their lives were? Maybe they suspected it, but they were afraid to admit it to anyone, or even to themselves. Humanity had been trying to improve for as long as it had existed. It was time to admit defeat, give up, and let a god-or multiple gods-step in. They'd never managed to build a perfect world. Triggering the apocalypse, on the other hand, definitely seemed like something that a human being would be capable of.

Paul's gravity halos glowed with a cold, silvery light. The scientists had told him that gravity and light were connected. He was the only person that remembered the blue-and-yellow man, the one with the power of countless suns. When you added it all up, it meant that Paul was the light, or close enough, while "Daredevil" could serve as the darkness. The light would defeat the darkness, and all of this would be over.

He was in pain, and maybe even dying, but he'd never felt so alive. Paul was like a man at the end of a marathon. The end was in sight, and it had given him his second wind-or maybe it was more like his third or fourth, by now. He was heading for a building that was deep in Manhattan. The more he used his abilities, the more he remembered (or saw), and when he'd been fighting Angel, the building had flashed through his mind. He'd seen it once before, but he now knew where it was located. The blue-and-yellow man had fought one of his enemies on its rooftop. Something in his mind was shouting at him to go there, and he'd listened.

Paul's journey had taken on a dreamlike quality. The nighttime clouds looked sort of magical, the sounds were muffled, and waves of relaxation would sometimes wash over him. But that was probably the blood loss. While he'd been focused on Angel, the false light, that old man had shivved him prison-style. His suit's Space Age padding had protected him, but only partially. The tip of the blade had punctured it. So, instead of immediately dying from a deep wound, he was gradually bleeding out from a shallower one. He had no idea how he could beat either of them like this, let alone both of them...but if he was really the light, he didn't have anything to worry about. Things would happen the way they were supposed to.

The darkness and the false light were right behind him, but he could feel them when they got close, and they weren't _that_ close, right now. He'd only discovered that aspect of his powers during his fight with Angel. Paul could sense motion, now. He didn't know exactly how it worked, but the scientists had told him that everyone and everything had a "gravitational signature," so maybe that explained it. If he got close to an unmoving object, he didn't feel anything. But, if something was coming right at him, he could feel its vibrations.

As he flew, Paul used one hand to clutch his back. He'd checked that glove a few times, and it was always bloody-it didn't seem to be slowing down.

Paul scanned the cityscape, finally spotting the building. It was a modern, flat-topped skyscraper, and it was just a few miles away. He'd reach it in no time. Just seeing it gave him hope, and helped him focus. Paul didn't want to take his eyes off of it...but the "heroes" were right behind him, and he needed to buy himself a little time.

 _Give 'em somebody to save._

He twisted in midair, which made his neck and back scream at him, and he turned so that he faced behind him. Angel was flying after him, while Daredevil was swinging between buildings like one of those trapeze guys. Paul fired a stream of gravity halos from his free hand-the one with the bloody glove. His halos forced them to veer off, dodging them, and it slowed them down. But it wouldn't be enough. There was a stream of cop cars below, and he fired a single gravity halo, knowing that he was bound to hit one of them. Sure enough, a black-and-white went flying into the air. Angel gave chase, trying to rescue the cops inside, and Paul turned back around. Daredevil's swinging was slower than Angel's flying; he had more of a head-start, now.

Paul reached the building roughly a minute later, and it wasn't his best landing. He bounced across the rooftop a few times. His legs were weaker than he'd realized, and he had to use a gravity halo to get back to his feet. It wasn't pretty. Still, he remembered what his dad had said whenever he'd watch football on TV: "It ain't a beauty contest."

 _All you have to do is get it done. If it's ugly, or messy, that's fine. All you need to worry about is kickstarting this whole process._

He took a quick look around...and was alarmed to see that it was just a regular rooftop. There was an access shed, industrial-sized exhaust fans, metal chimneys, pigeon droppings, and cigarette butts that were being tossed around by the wind. But he'd seen this place in his memories, or visions, or whatever they were. It _had_ to be important. Paul grabbed his back, winced, and took a closer look. If not for his helmet's special visor, he never would have seen the scorch marks. They blended in with the shadows. At first, he thought that it was evidence of a past fire, but the scorch marks stretched out in certain places, long and skinny, and there were other places where they simply stopped. It hadn't been a regular fire.

Then, dully, he thought, _Oh, right, the Fantastic Four fought some guy on top of this building. Yeah, the General or something. The Human Torch probably made those scorch-marks._

Paul immediately shook his head, frowning. He'd thought about it the way you'd think about some dry fact that you'd been taught in school. But, along with the Beatles and President Kennedy, the FF were the most famous people on the planet, right now. It should have been "Wow, that's so groovy, the Fantastic Four were up here, too!" Instead, it had been lodged in the very back of his memory, disguised as something boring. Almost hidden.

 _I'm starting to see the cracks, now. Come on: if Reed Richards so much as sneezes, there's a front-page article about it in the Bugle. We're supposed to believe that the FF fought some big-time bad guy right here, in the middle of New York, and everybody just shrugged and moved on? No way. The papers are still doing follow-up articles about the Mole Man, and that was their very first adventure. Some enterprising doorman should be charging for tours up here._

A new flash hit him...he remembered listening to the radio, and some deep-voiced news announcer said that "he" had just defeated the General. Not a group; an individual.

 _The General must have been_ _ **his**_ _enemy, not theirs. But, somehow, when he was erased from everybody's memories, the Fantastic Four became the ones that supposedly beat him._

Paul felt a surge of uncertainty-it was starting to look like they were memories, as opposed to visions of the future, and he wasn't sure what that meant-but he shrugged it off. For all he knew, his mind could be mixing up the past with the future. Besides, Daredevil and Angel would be on him in minutes, and he needed to get moving. He floated above the rooftop, studying it. The scorch marks could have been caused by grenades, special weapons, or even the light's powers. But Paul didn't see anything else that was unusual. Had he only been drawn here because of that particular memory, or was there something else, too?

 _Wait...the fans..._

There were a lot of industrial fans on the rooftop. They were big, spinning, noisy things, laid out in two-by-two grids. But three of the fans seemed out of place; they didn't fit the same pattern. They were all in a row, and they were off by themselves, on the far edge of the rooftop. These fans weren't spinning, either. Paul flew over to them. Hesitation was a thing of the past, for him: he shot each one with a gravity halo, and they went flying into the night.

An elevator shaft was hidden underneath. A big one, like for a freight elevator. The elevator wasn't there, at the moment, and Paul had no idea how it would work. Wasn't there usually some cable on top? Whatever this thing was, it must have worked a different way.

Paul descended into the shaft. It was as long as the building, and maybe even longer. When he got to the bottom, he heard dripping water, almost like he was under the street. Paul landed on top of the elevator car. One foot landed on solid metal, and the other hit on something more hollow. An access panel. He removed his foot and shot the panel with a halo, letting it fly up the shaft. Paul floated down into the elevator itself. It had a single control dial, and a solid steel door was standing in his way. He didn't see any way to open the door from this side.

Suddenly, a static-y voice exploded into the elevator: "IDENTIFY YOURSELF! HOW DID YOU FIND THIS PLACE?"

Paul nearly jumped out of his spacesuit, of course. But, once he calmed back down, he actually found himself laughing.

 _It was supposed to be a trap! The General would fight the blue-and-yellow man on the rooftop, and this was a way for him to stage an ambush. His soldiers would use the elevator to surprise-_

"-the Sentry," Paul whispered to himself. But his helmet magnified the words.

The sound of a commotion came across the speaker in the elevator, and a new person must have grabbed the microphone, because a different voice came on. "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"

"Uh, what-"

"THE NAME, THE NAME YOU JUST SAID, SAY IT AGAIN!"

"...the Sentry? You remember him, too? The blue-and-yellow man? He had blond hair, and his powers came from light."

There was even more commotion on the other side. Paul heard gasps, laughter, screaming, and arguing.

 _Oh my god, they remember! It's a miracle! Use it, Paul! Use it before it's too late!_

"Listen to me," Paul gasped, clutching the wound in his back. "The Sentry's greatest enemy is coming. You know, um, the monster made of darkness, emptiness. He's like a living v-the Void! He and the General were rivals, right? Well, he knows that you're here by yourselves, and he's coming to finish you off. Remember how he could change his form? He's calling himself Daredevil, now. Posing as one of the new superheroes. Come on, it couldn't be more obvious. A 'hero' with a demonic name, and he only goes out at night, too. I've been sent here to kill him, but I need your h-"

The elevator door suddenly slid open. Paul found himself facing a row of green-uniformed men with...with beam rifles, or something. But their eyes weren't hard at all. If anything, they looked as if they'd just woken up from a dream. The rifles had a very unique style to them, and "energy bubbles" were leaking out of the barrels-those barrels were currently being lowered, either accidentally or on purpose. Paul watched as the soldiers blinked in confusion. Behind them, unarmed men were excitedly whispering, pointing, and elbowing each other.

Paul knew exactly what to do. He slowly took off his helmet, smiled at them, and said, "You aren't crazy. I remember it all, too."

He watched as relief washed over them. It was easy to recognize; he'd seen it in the mirror enough times. When something about your life isn't quite adding up, and you're afraid you're losing it, but something causes you to realize that you were right the whole time...yeah, he knew that feeling, and he could recognize it in others.

Some sort of officer stepped forward. He was a trim man in his fifties, and he sported a grey crewcut. Looking closer, Paul saw that the uniforms were actually green and red, and that each one had a slightly-tilted letter G on it. The symbol looked sort of familiar, but it took him a few seconds to place it. As strange as it sounded, the G looked like Russia's hammer-and-sickle, with the rounded part being the sickle, and the "bar" being the hammer.

"We...we didn't remember, actually. Not until you said his name," the officer said. "But we knew that something was missing. The General trained us to fight some powerful enemy, and our memories told us that it was the Fantastic Four, but we knew it was a lie. The General was going to bombard us with ions and give us powers. He'd been teaching us how to isolate and overwhelm a single opponent-just one man. But the enemy must have shown up before we were ready. The General was taken to jail, and all we could do was hide down here. Then, at some point after that, the entire world changed around us. Even our minds. I remember the Fantastic Four being on the rooftop, and watching the fight on camera, but I knew that wasn't how it really happened."

 _Well, I'm not him. I'm not the Sentry._ Since gravity and light were connected, Paul had wondered if his powers would eventually turn him into the hero that he'd seen in his visions...but, no, they were memories of someone else. A separate person. _Maybe he was the original light, but the darkness did something to him. Maybe I saw all that because I'm supposed to replace him._

"The Sentry has vanished," Paul said, "but the Void is still a threat. That's why I'm here. He's right outside, and he means to kill all of us."

There was a series of gasps, followed by a chorus of whispers: the men's discipline broke, and they started making suggestions to their commanding officer. Each new suggestion was louder than the last.

"Let him in, sir! We'll need his help!"

"Hey, he's the only one that remembers, we've gotta let him in here!"

"Quick, before he decides to fly off!"

"If the Void kills us, he'll probably go after the General, next," Paul heard himself saying. "We need to stop him here and now."

The officer gave him a long look, seemingly studying him. "I don't know who you are, kid...and, to be completely honest, I couldn't care less. But you just solved a mystery that's had our intelligence men stymied for months. This has been eating at me, eating at all of us. We've been losing personnel to addiction, insanity, and suicide. Thank god you showed up. Security, can we confirm that this 'Daredevil' character is outside?"

"Confirmed, sir-and he's brought another person with him. Some man with wings."

"They're working together," Paul said, feeling a sudden chill. He tried to take a step forward, only to nearly fall flat on his face. As he stumbled into the underground base, some of the men rushed forward to catch him, and he heard the officer shout for a medic. His helmet tumbled onto the metal floor. Paul went fuzzy for a few seconds, but he picked up the words "too valuable" and "can't let him die."

When the world became more focused, Paul found that he was sitting on the floor, and that two of the men were tying a tourniquet around his waist. The officer was speaking to him. "Don't worry, son-we'll get you patched up, and we'll pump some of those new painkillers into you, too. You'll be strong enough to fight."

"We'll need all of your men, all of your weapons. The darkness is...tough...almost unstoppable..."

"We didn't have enough manpower or weaponry to take on the en-the Sentry, so we may not have enough to stop this 'Void,' either. I'm starting to remember more about him, and I seem to recall that he's just as tough as the Sentry. But there might be a way. I don't know why you're against him, but, right now, we've got the same enemy. Are you willing to die to stop him? We're willing to die for the General...and this base is powered by an atomic generator. If we override the safety features and lure the Void in here, we just might be able to take him out."

"Do it. But, when the time comes, I need to be the one that pushes the button. Trust me."

The officer listened, nodding. "Understood. We'll just need to hold him off for an hour, or two at the most. Give our science people enough time to do their thing."

At that point, the officer started shouting orders, and none of the men hesitated, even though they'd just heard that they were going to die. They seemed completely devoted to the General's cause. Paul was devoted to humanity, and, for its sake, he hoped they could pull this off.

 _Just two more hours, Paul. You only have to make your life work for two more hours. There have been thousands of religions and mythologies...all you need is for one of them to be real, and have vague enough conditions. A light defeats a darkness, the end of the world is triggered, and we all move on to something better._

Paul was experiencing what felt like an earthquake, but no one else seemed to notice it. It was as if the world around him was shaking itself apart. At first, he was afraid that he was dying, but he decided that it meant something else, instead. The ingredients for the end were coming together, in a way that they hadn't been before. Him, the darkness, the atomic generator. They were all in the same place. The mere possibility of the apocalypse seemed to be straining the fabric of the universe, and Paul hoped that one strong pull would rip it apart.


	21. Issue 3, Chapter 1

**Daredevil & Angel: The Silver Age**

 **Issue #3**

" **An Indestructible Life"**

He'd come up with two different ways to win. There were two possible solutions to this, one for each of his halves:

Matt Murdock wanted to use a logical argument. Halo Knight's plan had one big hole in it, and there was a chance that he could make him see the truth. What Halo Knight was doing was crazy, without a doubt, but he didn't think that the man himself was crazy. Just hopeless. Daredevil, on the other hand, wanted to become something that Halo Knight _was_ afraid of. He already thought that he was some kind of ultimate darkness, so he might as well take advantage of it. Acting like "The Monster" could be the most effective way to break him.

 _You've been walking a tightrope, balancing two different sets of beliefs...but, this time, you're going to have to choose one of them over the other._

Halo Knight had built up a lead, flying beyond the range of Daredevil's radar sense. But he'd been able to track him by sound, and now that his suit was punctured, he could track him by scent, as well. The trail led to a scorched-smelling rooftop. Something had clearly happened there, but it had been a while ago. Daredevil landed on the roof and retracted his billy club's cord. His radar sense showed him the exposed secret passage, and he heard the wind echoing in it, as well.

It was really windy up there. Daredevil breathed in the chilly air, trying to clear his head. That government agent had gotten some good licks in. Daredevil checked the rooftop for anything suspicious, stretched, and rubbed a few sore places. Halo Knight was proving to be his toughest opponent yet, but the agent definitely qualified as the toughest regular opponent.

Angel was right behind him. Halo Knight had shot a cop car with one of his anti-gravity rings, and it had hurtled into the sky, prompting Angel to go after it. The first part of the rescue had been out of Daredevil's sensory range, but he'd heard him fly down with the two cops and put them on the sidewalk. He must have broken a window and pulled them out in midair.

When Angel landed, Daredevil pointed at the elevator shaft. "He went down there."

"I got 'em," Angel said, not realizing that Daredevil had overheard the last part of the rescue. He was panting. "I couldn't do anything about their car, though. It'll eventually come back down."

"Good job, k-Angel. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, I'm just a little winded. I really had to push myself to catch up with their car. Come on, let's go get him."

Angel seemed different, now...a little tougher, and a little more aggressive. That fight in the hotel had changed him. Angel immediately flew to the elevator shaft, peering down into it, and Daredevil actually had to tell him to wait.

"Should I check it out?" Angel asked.

Daredevil "looked" down the shaft, frowning. His billy club's grappling cord was nowhere near long enough to reach the bottom, so he'd have to do it in segments-it would take him a few minutes to rappel down there, and just as long to get back up. Angel could do it much more quickly.

"I think that he's already gone into the building," Daredevil said. The elevator shaft was like an echo tunnel; he could hear all the way to the bottom, and he wasn't picking up any breathing or heartbeats. "Listen carefully: I want you go down there, take a quick look around, and then get right back up here. If you need help, just shout."

Angel nodded and casually jumped down the shaft. Daredevil heard him glide to slow his descent, his feathers fluttering. Angel landed on something, and then he must have gone into the elevator car, because he landed on (or in) a second something. Nothing eventful seemed to happen. Less than a minute later, he flew back up.

"There's only one door-a big one, at the very bottom. It's steel, and I don't think it can be opened from this side."

"Could we pry it open?"

"No, I don't think so...it's like one of those bank vault doors."

"We'll have to find another way in, then," Daredevil said. "Come on, let's go down to the street."

Angel gestured to the rooftop. "Hey, isn't this where the Fantastic Four fought one of their enemies? Some would-be dictator guy? He had a mask, a proton scepter..."

Daredevil nodded. He remembered hearing something about that, but the details had slipped his mind, for some reason. "Maybe Halo Knight's connected to him. Somehow, though, he knew to come to this building, which just happens to have a secret elevator. Maybe it's his home base, or maybe he heard about this place from someone in the space program."

 _Which would be worse? If this is his headquarters, which could mean built-in traps, or if this is some government facility, with plenty of hostages for him to grab?_

The two of them descended to the street. A herd of cop cars had been chasing Halo Knight, and the cops had parked and gotten out, probably because they'd lost Halo Knight somewhere in this neighborhood...but a different type of car was just pulling up. The engine and outline gave it away as a Rolls Royce. An older man got out of it, flashing some sort of ID, and a cop tried to wave him away. While Angel flew toward the fancy car, Daredevil took note of the sheer number of cops. He'd only had a few...interactions with the police, and they hadn't gone well. But, at the moment, he had bigger problems to deal with.

One of the cops was giving orders, and the other cops called him "Sarge;" Daredevil landed ten feet away from him. The cops were a bit startled by this, but they'd seen the two heroes chasing Halo Knight, so they weren't entirely surprised. At the same time, the pair of cops that Angel had saved pointed at him and excitedly recounted what had happened.

"Sergeant," Daredevil said, speaking to the cop that had been giving orders, "that car's eventually going to come back down. You need to-"

"Don't worry, Devil-Man, we're already on it. We blocked off that whole intersection. So, where'd the spaceman go?"

"He's in there," Daredevil said, nodding toward the tall office building.

As soon as Daredevil finished speaking, the sergeant shouted Halo Knight's location. He told his men to surround the building and seal off the area. They proceeded to do just that, either in their cars or on-foot, scrambling to flank all four sides. Daredevil paused to listen to them, and it caused him to realize something. He couldn't hear any of the usual subterranean sounds. No water running through pipes, no echoes, no rats. There was something huge underneath this building, and it was completely soundproofed. It had created a blind spot in his super-hearing.

"He used a secret elevator on the rooftop, and it goes to the very bottom of the building, or even deeper. But the way in is blocked by a metal door. I think that he's underneath the building, right now, hiding in some closed-off area. We're going to go through the front door, so we can look for another way down there."

"Better you than us...but, if you need backup, some of us can come in with you."

Daredevil blinked. As Matt Murdock, defense lawyer, cops didn't like him; as Daredevil, however, it appeared that at least some cops felt the opposite. "I appreciate that, but you'll be more effective out here. You can keep him contained. He's in bad shape, so I think that Angel and I can capture him-but if we end up flushing him out, instead..."

"Understood. I'll put my best marksmen on the rooftops: if he tries to fly away when you're inside, we'll either scare him back in or shoot him down. More men are on the way, and I can ask for some sharpshooters, too. My lieu said whatever we need. This freak attacked some high-and-mighties, and the brass wants him in either cuffs or a body-bag."

Daredevil wasn't sure if the cops could actually keep Halo Knight contained...but, if he tried to sneak out of the building, the sound of gunfire would be a sign that he was trying to escape. And if the cops stayed together, they'd be a lot safer. He didn't want to split them up.

 _That isn't the whole truth, Matt, and you know it. If any cops come inside with you, they might hear Halo Knight use the m-word. Angel's right: if the papers find out about mutants, it'll cause a huge panic. We could be looking at a stock market crash, more politically-driven witch-hunts, and god only knows how it'll affect the Cold War. Halo Knight may only want to kill you, but he could end up hurting the entire planet. You need to take him down quickly, without witnesses, and hand him over to the FBI. They're a better option than the CIA._

Angel was still talking to the man who'd gotten out of the Rolls Royce, and Daredevil jogged over to him. As he went, random cops thanked him for "saving those rich folks back there," and a few joked about how the heroes were showing them up.

 _They like us...for now. But if that CIA man shows up, and he has real authority behind him, things could get ugly. If he thinks we'll stop him from killing Halo Knight, he might order the cops to arrest us. We need to get inside before he shows up._

"Come on, let's go," Daredevil said to Angel.

"Hey, do you know who this is? It's the original Angel!"

"Dr. Thomas Halloway," the older man said, holding out some sort of ID card. "These younger police officers weren't very impressed with my membership in the All-Winners Squad. In the old days, you could use that card to get past the yellow tape, but now..."

Daredevil remembered him. Halloway was a wealthy surgeon with an interesting background: his father had been a warden, and he'd actually been raised on the prison grounds. He'd learned a lot about the criminal mind. Halloway had gone into medicine, but he'd also helped the police solve murder cases, and that led to him becoming a costumed hero. He'd never bothered with a secret identity. In the forties, the three biggest heroes had been Captain America, the original Human Torch, and Angel.

"He was the one that helped me in the hotel," Angel said. "He-"

"-tried to kill Halo Knight," Daredevil stated flatly.

Halloway shrugged. "Capes don't kill...but I'm not a cape, anymore. Just a private citizen. I know how difficult the job is, and I wanted to make it easier for you boys. Besides, with the way he was taking that beating, I knew that he was difficult to injure, or at least wearing a special suit. I didn't think I had any real chance of killing him."

"Well, thanks for the help. I appreciated it. Even if Mr. Fun-Time here doesn't," Angel said.

The older man didn't seem offended. "It's a hard line to walk...especially when you've sworn an oath to do no harm. That's something we all have to deal with, though. Professional ethics versus personal beliefs."

Daredevil understood completely, but he couldn't admit that. "We need to get in there."

Halloway reached into his car, pulling out some sort of bundle. Angel turned to Daredevil and said, "Wait, before we go-who were you fighting back there?"

"Someone claiming to be a government agent. I think he's CIA...he's here to assassinate Halo Knight."

Halloway handed Angel the bundle, and when he heard the word "CIA," he snorted. "Believe it or not, the CIA's predecessor, the OSS, tried to recruit some of us in the late thirties. Me, the Destroyer, a few others. Don't trust them, boys."

"What is this?"

The older man told them, and neither of them believed it.

"Take it with you, just in case," Halloway said. "You never know what'll come in handy."

Angel's suit had a flap on the back, between his wings, and he used it as a makeshift pocket, sticking the bundle in.

Halloway gave them his home address. "If you get banged up, I can take care of you. And I'm not just talking about tonight. In the old days, there were more of us, so we could lean on each other a little more. Don't be afraid to ask for help, boys."

Daredevil thanked him and sprinted toward the building. Angel said goodbye to his namesake, taking to the air a moment later. The cops actually clapped when they saw them charging into action. Up ahead, the building's night watchman had come out, and the sergeant was questioning him. The night watchman said that he had no idea why a "science villain" would want to break into this building; his heartbeat said that he was telling the truth. With the front doors already open, Daredevil darted through them, with Angel right on his tail.

On the inside, it seemed to be like every other office building in Manhattan. A big foyer, a desk, potted plants, an elevator, a few stairwell doors. Daredevil couldn't read the signs on the doors-the printing wasn't raised-but one of them was leaking cold air, so he figured that that was the way to the basement. It was locked, and he casually kicked it open.

"There's a huge facility underneath this building," Daredevil said, practically whispering. "I think that Halo Knight is hiding in there."

"Wait, how do you kn-"

Daredevil ignored him, leaping down a flight of stairs, and then ricocheting off of a wall and leaping down a second flight. The next door was unlocked. Daredevil shouldered it open, with Angel right behind him.

The basement was huge. It was almost completely wide-open, with the exception of a long row of furnaces in the "middle-right" of the basement, which pressed up against the cinderblock wall. The furnaces were so close to each other that their sides were touching. Most of them were running; it was loud down there. The basement was pretty empty. Aside from the furnaces, there were just a few dusty cardboard boxes, an empty beer bottle, and a metal desk that probably dated back to the war.

Angel glanced around. "So, we're looking for a secret passage?"

"Right." Daredevil drank the room in with his senses, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Angel flew slowly and felt along the walls. "Dr. Halloway was asking about Halo Knight...you know, why he's after us, stuff like that. He thought that Halo Knight's 'plan' was pretty fitting. Dr. Halloway said that America's always swinging from one extreme to the other: either everything's better than ever, or things are so bad that the world might end. Almost nobody picks the boring position in the middle. He said that, as far as most people are concerned, we're 'perpetually on the edge of either utopia or the apocalypse.' It just depends on who you ask. So, of course, somebody had to combine the two, right? Hey, are you listening to m-"

"Do you think it's cold in here?"

"Compared to outside, no way. But, yeah, it's kind of chilly."

"Is that strange?"

"Uh, maybe? For a room with a bunch of furnaces in it, there isn't much...residual heat, I guess? It's a big basement, but still."

Daredevil walked over to the furnaces. "Some of these aren't running, and they're different in other ways, as well." Three of the tightly-grouped furnaces smelled incredibly dusty. Even the resting furnaces had some "leftover" warmth in them, while these were ice-cold. And they just happened to be grouped together.

He knelt down, started to take the lower panel off of one of them...and watched as the "backs" of the three furnaces all swung open at once. They were physically connected to each other, a single shell-like cover. Another vault-style door was behind it. This one was wider than the first, and it had six combination locks on it, three on either side.

"Oh, wow," Angel said. "Just our luck, they're all set to zero. We're gonna need a safecracker."

Daredevil started turning the dials: he could hear the tumblers clicking, and he could feel them, as well. It was too easy. Less than a minute later, the door made a clunking noise and creaked open.

Angel was staring at him. "...so, just to be clear: you're a superhero, a Far East hand-to-hand master, an acrobat, _and_ a cat burglar?"

"I actually have one other specialty, too. But, if I told you, you wouldn't believe me. Come on."

There was a wide, sloping concrete tunnel behind the door. It was a steep 45-degree angle. The corridor must have been long, because his radar only bounced off the sides, while not finding any walls beyond that. He could feel the warmth of lights further below, but the initial part of the manmade tunnel was dark.

Daredevil thought about closing the door behind them. If they locked it and broke the mechanism on the way in, it would prevent Halo Knight from escaping through this exit, and it would also prevent the CIA man from following them in. But if something went wrong, the cops (or other heroes) would need to follow their tracks. Iron Man and the Thing could probably punch through it; Spider-Man would be stuck waiting for the NYPD safecracker. Also, as long as the door was open, the soundproof seal was broken. If the cops opened fire on Halo Knight en masse, he'd be able to hear it even if they were deep underground. Or so he hoped.

Angel drew his guns, while Daredevil unsheathed his billy club. They started walking. He had no desire to be around Halo Knight again, but, obviously, he didn't have a choice. Daredevil wasn't scared of him, he just felt...revulsion, or something close to it. He'd been a fighter for all of his life. Matt Murdock had been dealt blow after blow, but he always overcame them. His mother leaving, being blinded, his father being murdered, and having to make it through law school without his sight (with everyone telling him not to bother going at all, because it wasn't a good place for "cripples.") Halo Knight, on the other hand, had given up completely. Daredevil didn't like being reminded of that option. He was a fighter, and for someone to choose to stop fighting...well, he felt the way that certain people feel around sick people. You don't want to get too close, because they might be contagious.

Daredevil and Angel walked into the darkness together.


	22. Issue 3, Chapter 2

Eventually, the concrete gave way to metal, and the ramp evened out and widened, opening into a huge, bunker-like chamber. The main lights had stopped working for some reason, but there were dim backup lights. Each of the three walls had a number of open doorways to choose from. Angel started to say that Halo Knight could be hiding anywhere, down here, and that it'd be tough to find him...but Daredevil inexplicably sniffed the air and picked one of the doorways on the left. Daredevil seemed to know what he was doing-and he _was_ the adult in this situation-so Angel simply followed him.

The doorway led to something completely unexpected: as far as Angel could tell, it was a shrine to an era that had never actually existed. He found himself looking at a future that had been sabotaged before its time.

This room was made of marble, and it was spacious, laid out like a museum wing. There were paintings on the walls and carefully-arranged displays. Everything was devoted to the General, the would-be dictator that the Fantastic Four had defeated. There were oversized portraits of him, and statues, and plaques. The plaques featured quotes that were probably supposed to be brilliant or inspirational, but instead came off as creepy. "If you've tried and failed to conquer yourself, put your trust in someone who has conquered nations, and let him rule you." A series of overly-optimistic paintings showed him marching on Washington, D.C. with an army of soldiers and robots, defeating US forces, and planting his "G" flag above the White House.

(The General wore a green and red uniform, and he had a green hat, cloak, and mask. His soldiers were dressed in similar colors. In addition to full-sized tanks and fighter planes, he used miniaturized remote-control versions of those same vehicles. Angel sort of remembered reading about him in the papers, but he hadn't been a big story, for some reason. He was American, though the government hadn't said whether he was actual military or just some guy in a costume. The General was against Communism, but he liked the Russians' style, and he wanted to be America's very own dictator, "saving" the public from the horror of rulers that weren't him.)

"Looks like we found one of the General's bases," Angel said quietly.

"...yeah, looks like," Daredevil said, a little uncertainty in his voice.

"So, what, do you think Halo Knight and the General are working together?"

"At this point, we can't rule out anything."

Not all of the "museum" was devoted to the General. Paintings and intricate models showed new cities that the General planned to build-presumably to replace the ones he'd destroy-and there were also schematics and models of the buildings that he planned to rule from. These included "The Emperor's Citadel," various types of "Martial Centers," and "The Ministry of Obedience." (The Ministry seemed to be just for women, and all of the people in the paintings were white.) There were also mannequins that modeled specific types of uniforms. In addition to the standard green-and-red one, there were camouflaged, full-body uniforms designed for jungles, deserts, icy regions, and forests. Angel noticed a midnight-blue one that was somehow darker than the color black, which was probably for night-work.

"Halo Knight hasn't been in this part of the base. Come on, we need to keep looking," Daredevil said.

Angel had gotten tired of asking Daredevil how he knew these things, so he just nodded.

For an underground facility, the place wasn't cramped at all: so far, everything that Angel had seen was spacious and wide-open. A cylindrical metal corridor led out of the museum and into an auditorium. As they walked from one to the other, Angel noticed that there weren't any doors between the two. It was strange. Also, the architecture didn't really feel American. It wasn't geometric enough. There were a lot of sweeping, billowing curves, almost as if they were on some sort of mod spaceship.

They entered the cavernous auditorium and gradually made their way through it. Flags lined the stage-each of them containing a red G on a green background-and there was a red G on the podium, as well. Like the rest of the facility, the auditorium only had backup lights.

"What do you think's wrong with the lights?"

"Some massive piece of machinery is straining the system," Daredevil said, cocking his head. "It's a few levels below us."

Angel also cocked his head, trying to hear it. He couldn't. But, when he let himself be still for a moment, he noticed that the floor was just barely vibrating. Humming, almost.

"Yeah, I'm sure _that's_ a great sign," Angel muttered.

"Keep your eyes peeled for another way out of here. We know about the basement entrance and the elevator, but there might be a third one, too."

"Because Halo Knight might try to get out that way?"

"That, and because we might need to use it, ourselves. If the CIA man shows up, we could have a problem on our hands. He or his bosses might turn the cops against us."

"Um-wh-if you'd already thought of that, why didn't we leave the cops out of it entirely?"

"There's only two of us, Angel. We needed the cops to keep Halo Knight pinned down in here. Besides, they would have seen us go into the building, so they would have surrounded it anyway."

They left the auditorium and stalked down another metal corridor. A thought struck Angel, but he tried to force it out of his mind. _No, Warren, you can't think like that. That's wrong. It's true, though...if that CIA assassin guy killed Halo Knight, your life would be lot easier, and the world would be a lot safer._

This was the exact opposite of what Angel had been hoping for. He'd been praying that the hotel would be as exciting as it got, and that things would get calmer from there. Not for his sake-not _just_ for his sake, anyway-but for the sake of all the mutants out there. They didn't need this kind of attention.

Halo Knight had terrorized a bunch of wealthy people, and that was bound to get some headlines. But Angel had hoped for a nice, boring ending to the story, where they captured Halo Knight without incident. New Yorkers would read about it and shrug, accepting it as part of their everyday lives. Just another crazy person in a costume. No mention of mutants, nothing out of the ordinary. Instead, the two of them had found a secret underground fortress in the heart of Manhattan, and Halo Knight might be in league with the General. The more exciting this became, the more curious the public would be. And it would result in more scrutiny for Halo Knight.

 _If this ends up capturing the public's imagination, and the Times and the Bugle really investigate it thoroughly, Halo Knight could end up being the first known mutant. He could screw it up for all of us. People could think that we're all criminals, or in league with world-conquering maniacs like the General. And, for all you know, most of us_ _ **could**_ _be like that. He's the only other mutant you've met. We've both got the same problem, so he should be helping me, not trying to kill me. So much for solidarity. But I haven't tried to help him, either. I keep waiting to feel some kind of connection to him, since we're the same...race, I guess? But it isn't happening. Be careful what you wish for, Warren. You always wondered what it would be like to be known for something other than your last name. Well, if they find out what you really are, nobody will care that you're a Worthington._

"We're getting closer," Daredevil whispered. The hallway had led them to some sort of rec area, which had billiards tables, dartboards, and even pinball machines. "There were people here. Dozens of them, less than an hour ago."

" _Dozens_?" Angel was still learning how to fight a few crooks at a time; he wasn't ready to take on a small army...

"Use your eyes-what do you see?"

Angel glanced around the room, playing detective as best he could. Some of the chairs had been knocked over, and none of the glasses were empty, most were at least half-full. The billiards hadn't been racked, and the darts were still in the boards. "It looks like they left in a hurry."

"Exactly...but was it because of us, or because of Halo Knight?"

Angel didn't have an answer to that question.

"Come on, they went this way." The rec area led to a mess hall. Beyond that, Angel saw what looked like a briefing room.

 _Yeah, sure, let's go_ _ **toward**_ _the group of renegade soldiers...and while we're at it, let's save the guy that wants to kill us, and make sure he lives long enough to tell the world about mutants._

Angel couldn't see Daredevil's eyes, but Daredevil had this one look, one that said "I know exactly what's going on with you." He seemed to know what you were feeling, somehow. Angel was starting to get used to it. Still, he jumped a little when Daredevil said, "This is the job. It makes our lives harder, not easier, and it puts us at risk. It isn't for everyone. If you want to quit, there's no shame in that."

"No, it's just...I don't know..."

"We're in a tough situation. Halo Knight wants to kill us, and he can hurt you in other ways, as well. You have to ask yourself this: who do you trust to deal with that situation? The authorities, maybe? A government agent you've never met? Or yourself?"

Yesterday, Angel would have gladly dumped it all on someone else. He was a kid, an amateur-he'd felt like he was in over his head. But the fight at the hotel had changed him. Angel had more confidence, now. And a mutant would be more discreet than a non-mutant. The government wanted to cover this up, too, but they weren't as motivated as he was. They were worried about their careers; he was worried about his life. He tried to imagine walking away, and letting the adults handle things, but it made him feel uneasy. Angel wanted to be there, so he could make sure that the problem was taken care of.

 _Halo Knight is using me to act out some apocalyptic fantasy. First, he had me as a hero, and when I wouldn't play along, he decided that I was one of the villains. I'm sick of it. I want to keep him from hurting anyone, and I want to make sure that he doesn't blow the lid on mutants. Being Angel is the best way to accomplish those things._

"Sorry," Angel said. "I'm still with you. I want to deal with this myself, and I'm ready to end it. This superhero thing just takes some getting used to."

"Tell me about it," Daredevil said. "And no apology necessary."

 _The old man was dead-on...Americans really are up-and-down, bouncing back and forth between extremes. Earlier today, you were actually entertaining the idea that Halo Knight might be right, at least about you being some kind of cosmic-destiny hero. Now, you're caught up imagining all these mutant-panic situations. From best-case to worst-case just like that. You need to stay calm, remember that nothing is as good or bad as it feels in the moment, and focus on what's in front of you._

They'd already walked through the mess hall, and they were now in the briefing room. The unusually-shaped rooms flowed right into each other. Angel said, "Have you noticed how they don't really have doors down here?"

Daredevil nodded. "Yeah, it's weird."

"Why do you think that is?"

Daredevil moved on to the next room, but he seemed to be thinking about the question. "Maybe the General was overconfident, and he thought that no one would ever find this place, so he didn't worry about being able to seal off parts of the base. Or...maybe he just didn't see any point to it, because his enemies are too powerful. If the Thing was rampaging around in here, doors wouldn't do anything to stop him, so they'd just be a waste of money."

When Angel thought about the General having incredibly powerful enemies, a strange sensation crawled through his brain. It made him shudder. Angel tried to remember the term for what he was experiencing-déjà vu-but he couldn't. He ignored the eerie feeling and kept going.

"I have something," Daredevil said.

They'd entered a room that seemed to be empty...except for a big, metal, vault-style door at one end. "Hey, is that the other side of the elevator door?" Before Daredevil could respond, Angel noticed that there was blood on the floor, along with a syringe and a big paper wrapper. "Whoa, what happened here?"

"Halo Knight was here, along with the General's troops...they bandaged him up and shot him full of chemicals. Painkillers, probably."

"So, they're definitely working together, then?"

"They are now...but something about this isn't right. If they were helping him all along, why was he fighting us by himself? And the General wants to rule the world, not end it," Daredevil said. "It doesn't add up."

"Well, maybe the General's goons thought that they could take advantage of him. They probably figured, hey, he's crazy, but he has powers, so maybe he'll be useful. Without the General around, they need some help. All they'd have to do is tell Halo Knight what he wanted to hear."

"But it doesn't explain why he came after us solo...or why the General's men are avoiding us. They have the numbers, and this is their home turf. They should be surrounding us and attacking. No, they're acting defensively, for some reason, and we need to find out why."

Daredevil walked around a curving corner, and when Angel followed him, he saw that there were stairs on the other side. They led down.

"The entire group went down these stairs, along with Halo Knight. Come on."

"...so, you're a tracker, too?"

They cautiously made their way down the stairs. As they descended, the vibrations became stronger, and Angel could hear the noise that Daredevil had mentioned. Some big piece of equipment was running. It had to be mechanical, but it sure didn't sound like a normal machine. He didn't hear gears, or pistons, or anything like that. It was more of a deep-pitched humming noise.

For some reason, Angel had expected the base's steps to look like the steps in his father's factories: a basic-but-rugged industrial grille. They _were_ metal, but they were smooth and sleek, and the stairway spiraled and stretched out in an unusual way. Part of Angel thought that it was meaningless...and another part of him thought that it said something about the General. He was a detail person, clearly. The General was creating his own vision for society, and everything was different, no matter how minor it seemed.

 _One villain that wants to build-and one that thinks building is pointless. Daredevil's right, it doesn't make any sense._

They came to a floor that was one giant room. It was ridiculous; it was almost the size of a football field. The room had weightlifting equipment, a firing range, an obstacle course, a boxing ring, and an area that was covered with gym mats. It must have been some sort of training area. Daredevil simply shook his head, continuing down the stairs.

The next floor was more standard. Corridors, smaller rooms. Again, Daredevil shook his head...but, this time, he left the stairs to look into one of the rooms. This room actually had a door, though it had been left open. Angel joined him and peered inside. The walls were covered with metal pegs, and tons of metal racks were crammed into the room. In the distant past, the Worthingtons had been hunters, and Angel recognized gun-racks when he saw them. This room must have been an armory, which had (just?) been cleared out.

They returned to the stairs and went down another level. Suddenly, Daredevil tensed up, and he motioned for Angel to stop. He then made a motion for silence.

Angel didn't see anything special or unusual about this floor...there was just a single corridor that veered to the right at a 90-degree angle. He didn't hear anyone, either. Granted, the machine-noise was incredibly loud, down here, so it was hard to hear _anything._ It was impossible to tell what was around the corner.

Daredevil crept forward even more cautiously than before, a man walking on thin ice, and Angel followed suit. That was when Angel saw him. There was a green-uniform-wearing guard posted at the corner, and he thankfully had his back to them. He was holding some weird kind of handgun. The guard was acting like he was about to start patrolling, but he seemed afraid to leave his position, or even to look toward the stairs. In fact, he was practically shaking. Angel just barely heard someone yelling at him, and the guard gestured in an angry, defensive way. He then turned on one heel and started to pace toward the stairs. The guard immediately saw them, of course, but fear made him freeze up for a second or two, and that was more time than Daredevil needed.

One spinning jump-kick knocked him senseless. He was around the corner, by that point, so anyone in the main part of the room couldn't have seen it happen. The guard would have crashed onto the floor, but Daredevil reflexively caught both him and the gun. Angel guessed that it was because of his training. Normally, the sound of a body or a gun hitting the floor would attract attention, but that wasn't the case here. Not with all the machine-noise. _Old habits are hard to break, I guess._

Daredevil handed Angel the gun, and then he dragged the guard further back, stashing him by the stairs. Angel took a moment to study the gun. It didn't have a hammer or a chamber, so it must have been a beam weapon, one of those new "blasters" he'd heard about. It had "KR-B" imprinted on one side, and there was a flat dial on the other side. The dial contained the numbers 1-5. It was set on 5, at the moment. Angel hesitated, not sure what to do with the gun-his own guns were low on ammo, but he didn't want to kill anyone, and he had no idea how powerful this thing was. He played with the dial a bit. Daredevil walked over to him, casually grabbed the gun, turned it down to 2, and shoved it back into his hands, nodding. (When Angel had first messed with the dial, Daredevil had cocked his head a bit, but Angel hadn't noticed.) Then, Daredevil gestured for him to follow.

The two of them went to the corner, just barely peeking around it...and Angel was shocked at what he saw.

There were at least sixty or seventy of the General's goons, and they all had the same blasters. They were just standing around in this massive, high-ceilinged room, apparently waiting for something. More than a few of them looked nervous. There were also men in white coats...and some of them were on the floor, either dead or dying. Whatever was going on, at least some of the scientists hadn't wanted to do it, but they'd been forced to. There were other corridors leading into the room, with guards posted by them. A bank of controls on a far wall had been reduced to smoking wreckage. Also, some of the soldiers were gathered around a person on the floor-Angel initially assumed that it was another scientist, but his superior eyesight enabled him to see that it was Halo Knight. He was sitting up, but he was moving in a groggy way.

But that was only half of the picture. The floor was transparent, and Angel gasped when he saw what was underneath. It looked as if a massive metal wheel had been laid on its side. There was a solid "hub" in the middle, an outer ring that was as wide as the entire room, and nine or ten spokes connecting the two. Some kind of orange energy was shooting through the spokes and making the ring glow brighter.

Angel and Daredevil withdrew around the corner...and, despite the noise, Angel could hear his own heart pounding in his chest. They were facing a ton of soldiers, and god only knew what they were planning to do with that machine. Daredevil, on the other hand, didn't look scared at all. He was wincing, though. The noise seemed to be bothering him.

Out of nowhere, there was a commotion, which Angel could actually hear over the noise. He held his breath, assuming that they'd been discovered. But, when he and Daredevil looked around the corner again, he saw that the soldiers were moving toward a different corridor. Some of them were, anyway. Others were waving them back and shouting arguments.

Everyone's backs were turned, and the group seemed to be moments away from splitting up. They'd never have a better chance.

With all the noise, they couldn't talk about the details of what they needed to do, or even have any sort of conversation at all. It came down to fight or flight. Daredevil looked right at Angel, and Angel hesitated...and then nodded.

It only took a minute for some of the soldiers to break off and run down the other corridor, but it felt like an eternity. Once they were gone, Daredevil and Angel charged, unseen and unheard.


	23. Issue 3, Chapter 3

"If you want the title-if you want the _name_ -then you need to get out there and earn it."

That was what "John," his handler, had said to him on the drive over, via the car's secret radio gear. Or rather, what he'd shouted at him. Sentinel-3 had never heard so much desperation in his voice. And he'd actually used the radio for once, which was another sign of just how important this mission was. John was the youngest handler he'd ever had, so you'd think that he'd like the Agency's latest gizmos, but that wasn't always the case. He only used the car radio in extreme emergencies. John preferred the older communication methods, such as coded drop messages and numbers stations. He hated the idea of sending a verbal message over the air-even if the signal was protected by the new Stark Industries scrambler.

' _Halo Knight' is driving the Agency crazy. He could reveal the existence of mutants to the world, or go over to the Russians, or both. If I don't take care of this ASAP, the suits are liable to do something stupid._

After the fight at the hotel, Sentinel-3 had picked himself up, hightailed it out of there, and gotten to his car. It had been easy to follow the procession of cop cars. Once they'd led him to Halo Knight's landing spot, he'd parked a few blocks away. He'd seen Daredevil and Angel talking to some cops, but he'd kept his distance until they went inside, because he was afraid they'd say, "Hey, there's a bad guy!", and that the cops would simply believe them and try to arrest him.

Sentinel-3 had infiltrated Russian gulags and Latverian castles. A Manhattan office building cordoned off by cops...it wasn't much of a challenge, really. He did have his fake FBI badge on him, but he didn't look like an FBI agent, right now. (Sentinel-3 was still in his working-man disguise. Dark jacket, a sweater, jeans, workboots, a stocking cap.) And he didn't want to waste time having a conversation, anyway. Instead, he'd grabbed all the guns and ammo he could, snuck into the building, and followed the heroes' path. They'd helpfully left the secret passage door open for him.

He made his way down the sloping tunnel, a gun in each hand...and when he saw what was at the bottom, he was absolutely incredulous. A huge secret base underneath America's biggest city? It was a security failure of epic proportions; the kind of thing that could end careers. But he shouldn't have been surprised. The Agency had gotten caught up in their ridiculous feud with Kennedy, and this had slipped through the cracks.

"Backup is on the way, but I don't know if it'll get there in time," John had told him. Another Sentinel-level operative was flying in from Los Angeles. Also, the Agency was hastily assembling a second kill-squad to help them, to replace the one that Halo Knight had torn through. But it'd be hours before either party arrived. And with so many cops outside, the press wouldn't be far behind, so it'd be a little too high-profile for the Agency's liking. Sentinel-3 was already inside, and one man was much less obtrusive than an entire tactical team. They wanted him to try to "resolve the situation" himself.

Sentinel-3 didn't know it, but he picked a different door. Instead of venturing into the world's creepiest museum, he found himself in the barracks, walking past rows of perfectly-made bunkbeds. Folded green-and-red uniforms told him that the base belonged to the man known as the General. The mutant going over to the General was bad, but at least it wasn't the Russians. Also, the General was a brilliant strategist, and he was what made his organization so dangerous. But he was currently locked up. Without him, well, his men might have numbers on their side, but they were simply ordinary soldiers.

He kept going. Like Angel, he noticed the strange architecture. America's enemies were getting more unusual (and advanced) by the day. Eventually, he came to a three-pronged crossroads: the showers, a fancier set of barracks, and a long corridor. He chose the corridor.

When he'd reported to John, he'd been vague about his confrontation with Daredevil. Sentinel-3 felt ashamed and embarrassed about how the fight had gone. He'd omitted certain details, and while he wouldn't have lied if John had asked him about it directly, he'd been fortunate, because John didn't care about that right now. He was completely focused on Halo Knight.

 _Yeah, you held your own...but you got distracted for a second, and he put you on the floor. You want to be the new Captain America, and you can't even beat the least-powerful hero out there? That's pathetic. America deserves better, and you know it. In some ways, being an Agency hitter has prepared you for the mantle, but in other ways, it really hasn't. You've gotten used to killing people in their sleep, and relying on guns too much. Yeah, you were trained to be one of the best fighters in the world, but Agency protocol is to be as stealthy as possible, and that usually means_ _ **avoiding**_ _fights. I've punched and kicked my way through ten armed men when I had to, but only as a last resort. Sure, I've probably been doing this longer than Daredevil, but he has more recent-and frequent-combat experience. And it's been a long time since I fought anyone remotely as good as him. But at least I know, now. I know how much I need to improve._

Sentinel-3 sprinted down the corridor, shocked at the lack of resistance. Where was everybody? The base wasn't abandoned; it was clearly occupied. Daredevil and Angel were already in here, so maybe the General's troops were distracted by them...but he didn't hear any gunfire, and sound would have really echoed through a base like this. Something wasn't right. Either Daredevil and Angel had already gotten captured, or the General's men had decided that something was more important than security.

He eventually came across what could best be described as a shrine. The room had a few plaques on the wall-quotes about understanding one's enemies-but most of the room had been filled with pictures. Those pictures were on the floor, now, either crumpled up or crossed out with black ink. Sentinel-3 knelt down for a closer look. The pictures were of the Fantastic Four, but someone had written on them, statements like "Wrong!" and "Not them!" and "What happened?" There was a large picture frame on one wall, which was labeled "THE ENEMY". But there wasn't a picture in it. Instead, there were pieces of paper with large question marks on them.

Seeing the heroes' faces...it made him think about the way that Daredevil had looked at him, during their fight. It had been a look of absolute disgust. A look that said "You're nothing but a killer, just another thug with a gun."

 _I want to be more. I want to be one of you, and help change the world for the better. But, if I don't complete this mission, I'll never have a real shot at winning the job. The other Candidates aren't as qualified as I am, it_ _ **needs**_ _to be me. Halo Knight is standing between me and a chance to help my country. Once I've put him down, I can leave all this behind._

Then, suddenly, Sentinel-3 heard footsteps and voices.

He flattened against the nearest wall, guns at the ready. It sounded like there were two of them-they must have come from the opposite direction, because they were in the next room over. There was apparently a flight of stairs, as he heard their footsteps descend, and their voices become muffled. They seemed to be arguing about something. Sentinel-3 waited five seconds, went around the corner, and followed them.

"-knew we weren't crazy," one of them was saying.

"Yeah, okay...he remembers who the Enemy is, and that's great. But does that mean we have to do _this_?"

"The darkness is coming for us-the Void-so we're dead anyway, right? We might as well take him down with us."

Sentinel-3 had to pause, bracing himself against the stairwell's railing. The word "Void" had sent him for a loop. Daredevil had gotten some good shots in, so he was probably just woozy from that.

"I'm just saying, the General isn't here, so we don't know what he'd do. I think he'd order us to fall back and regroup. The Enemy should be the priority, not the Enemy's enemies."

"If we do this, it'll help the General, period. One less problem for him to worry about."

Sentinel-3 went down the stairs, keeping a safe distance between himself and his quarry. The first level he came to was an oversized training area. It was empty, thank god, so there was no one to raise the alarm. He wasn't surprised to find such a place in a base like this, but the next level was much stranger. It was less than half the size of the training area, and it contained what looked like movie sets, almost. Mock-ups of building interiors. Going from left to right, Sentinel-3 saw a "bank," a "restaurant," and a "courtroom." They must have practiced operations, here. Armed assaults or undercover jobs or both.

(He saw something interesting above the fake restaurant: thin, transparent netting that was weighed down with green and red confetti. The netting was the size of two or three Buicks. In addition to training, they must have used that set for real celebrations.)

The two soldiers were still arguing, and Sentinel-3 heard another noise, as well. A sort of humming...

The soldiers were approaching the next level, but Sentinel-3 was still up by the "movie sets," trailing them from a distance. A quick glance down told him that the stairs ended at the level below this one. Then, a third voice was added to the mix, and the two soldiers abruptly stopped. Sentinel-3 froze. An older-sounding man asked them if they'd finished their patrol, and they said yes. But, when he asked them if they'd checked the "multi-purpose floor," they hesitated and said no. The older man told them to "Stop being women and do it." He also said that they should do something else, but Sentinel-3 didn't quite hear him. "Get the backup now" or "Let the backup out."

Sentinel-3 went up a few steps and darted toward the movie sets. This was the level they were supposed to search, he was sure, but it sounded like everybody was on the level below this one, so he needed to stay close. The sets offered him plenty of places to hide, and there were only two guards to deal with. With any luck, one of them would be about his size, and he could steal a uniform and use it for infiltration. He'd just have to do it before they got their "backup."

 _Yeah, it's a little easier when you're a spy, and you can sneak around in the shadows and engage in subterfuge. But what will you do if you get the Cap job? You'll be a red, white, and blue target, drawing fire from all of America's enemies. Doing this stuff out in the daylight is more heroic...but it's more dangerous for you, too._

Sentinel-3 ran behind the judge's bench in the courtroom and crouched behind it. It brought back memories; he hadn't been in a courtroom since he was a teenager. A few seconds later, he heard the guards tromping around, loudly whining about having to check the place. Not very professional. His coat was stuffed with guns and ammo, but he didn't have a silencer on him, so he'd have to deal with these guys hand-to-hand. That was fine by him. After what happened with Daredevil, he was ready to take his frustration out on someone.

It wasn't a thorough or enthusiastic search. The two of them looked around, but they sounded uneasy, and they never came close to his hiding spot. They'd apparently been dealing with memory issues, because they kept talking about some unfamiliar-sounding super-types that they'd just now remembered. A yellow-and-blue "Sentry" and a shadowy "Void." (Sentinel-3 felt little mental twinges when he heard the guards talking about them, but he was focused on the mission, and he ignored them.)

The two guards moved beyond the "movie sets," which was good. He didn't want to take them in a spot that could be seen from the stairs. Sentinel-3 crept out from his hiding place, and he saw that one of them _was_ his size, so his uniform would do just fine. They were now walking down a corridor. The guard that was his size was opening a door that led into a dark storage room-you could see the crates-while the other one remained outside and gave him some sort of activation code. As a Cold Warrior, Sentinel-3 immediately thought they were talking about nuclear missiles, but it could have been for some crazy Space Age weapon, as well. A death-ray or something. He had no idea why a weapon like that would be in a random storage room, but he didn't have time to wonder about it.

Sentinel-3 had been following them from a distance. He quickly advanced, pistol-whipping the smaller guard in the back of the head, and then rushing the guard in the storage room. That one actually managed to swing at him. Sentinel-3 reflexively ducked it, and an uppercut and roundhouse kick to the head knocked the man out. Both of them were down in less than ten seconds, it had been quiet, and he didn't hear any witnesses. It didn't get any better than that. He took their guns away, setting them to the side; he'd take a look at them in a minute. The storage room had loops of electrical wire hanging on the wall, and he used some of it to bind them. As for keeping them quiet, well, their uniforms included goofy red handkerchiefs, and they made perfect gags.

With the guards beaten and secured, he took a peek inside the crates. They were open, and they were full of...toys, for some reason. Tanks and helicopters and jets. There were dozens of them, and they were the size of expensive models, a little too big to hold in one hand.

The toys started _moving_.

At first, he thought that he was hallucinating, but it was real. The tanks crashed right out of the crates, splintering wood as they went, and the jets and helicopters hovered into the air, facing him. He heard something charging up-a _bunch_ of somethings charging up. Electric glows emanated from their ridiculous little weapons, and they started firing tiny streams of electricity at him.

 _YOU'VE GOTTA BE KIDDING ME-_

Sentinel-3 opened fire, but they swarmed on him, zapping him with painful electrical stings, and he was forced to spin on his heel and run for his life. He retreated to the "movie set" area, jumping behind the bank teller counter and using it as cover. The swarm of...of little robot vehicles formed a half-circle, surrounding him and trapping him against the "bank wall." Crackling blue streams gradually ate away at the counter, the wall, and the cash registers.

He'd only fought human beings. Thanks to classified CIA briefings, he knew that there were robots, and aliens, and even stranger things, but this was his first time dealing with something like that. His usual enemies had eyes that you could look into, and blood that could be spilled. This just felt sickening. The robots were buzzing around like insects, more collective than individual, and they were cold and unthinking.

 _Yeah, Mr. Tough Guy Secret Agent is about to be killed by a bunch of rogue toys. That's just perfect. Welcome to 1963, buddy._

The term hadn't been invented yet, but it was a target-rich environment, and Sentinel-3 understood the concept. All he had to do was stick his guns over the counter and fire blind. He heard the bullets strike home, resulting in small explosions and metal hitting the floor. But he quickly ran out of ammo, and he had to reload...while he did that, he braced himself, preparing for them to advance on him. But they didn't. They must have been programmed to corner an opponent and attack from a distance, first.

 _That'll help. But this shootout is announcing your presence to the rest of the base: unless something really crazy is going on, the guards and other troops will be here in no time._

Sentinel-3 fired, reloaded, fired, and reloaded again. When he ran out of ammo for his current guns, he tossed them aside and switched to new ones. He had to be making a dent in the robots, but the counter was slowly being eaten away by the electrical blasts, and he'd have to move, soon.

 _I remember hearing something about this: the General doesn't just use human soldiers, he uses these little robots, too. They always follow orders and never leak information. 'Sam,' my previous handler, mentioned them in one of his speeches about the new super-threats. He was always lecturing me ab-_

The robots' attacks abruptly paused, and when they resumed, Sentinel-3 also heard the whir of tank-treads. They were coming for him. He couldn't go forward...but, while the bank counter was real oak, the wall behind it was just a flimsy set. The barrage of electrical blasts had Swiss-cheesed it. Sentinel-3 launched himself through it, and then ran to the side, using the intact part of the wall as cover. Some of the vehicles followed him, and some remained on the other side and tried to cut him off. He was forced to run right into their fire. They exchanged attacks, and while they stung him a few more times, he shot at least six or seven of the helicopters and jets out of the air. The ones behind him stopped firing for some reason; maybe they didn't want to accidentally hit the other robots.

Sentinel-3 charged toward the "restaurant" set. Once he was through the swarm, he turned around, fired both guns until they were empty, and then dove behind a table. Wooden splinters started flying all around him. Toys were trying to kill him, and he couldn't help but laugh. As he crawled, reloading, he remembered one of his previous handler's speeches. "Absurdity can be lethal." He'd been shown footage of people like Mole Man, Paste-Pot Pete, and Red Ghost and his Super-Apes. Without any context, they looked ridiculous. But when you saw them in action, and realized how dangerous they were, it was truly scary, because they were chaos and insanity personified. It was like watching reality be torn to pieces right before your eyes.

' _Don't look at them and say, oh, they're too ridiculous to be a threat,'_ his old handler had said. _'Normal threats are obvious, and we understand them. It's the so-called 'ridiculous' ones you have to watch out for, because they seem harmless at first, and they're too new and crazy for anyone to figure out. The things that couldn't possibly happen, the lies that no one would ever be dumb enough to believe. Look at the times we're living in. Twenty years ago, the idea of using tiny little atoms to create a doomsday weapon would have seemed 'ridiculous,' right? These super-villains are just the next logical step. When you first hear about robotic tentacles and electromagnetic wings, they sound absurd...but I'm sure that people thought the same thing about tanks and chemical weapons.'_

Sentinel-3 was firing at floor-level, now, trying to hit the tanks that were on the other side of the tables...but "atomic rays" triggered something. He'd forgotten all about the guards' blasters. Sentinel-3 shouldn't have been using his own weapons; he should have taken the guards' science-fiction-looking ones. Crazy guns to fight a crazy enemy.

He'd been staying low, using the tables and chairs as cover. But he was starting to run out of ammo, and the toys were pursuing him, so he needed to move, anyway. Sentinel-3 ran backwards, firing, and heading for the "courtroom." He once again ducked behind the judge's bench, using it as a shield. (Sentinel-3 would have given anything for a _real_ shield, right now, but the General apparently didn't believe in using them, because he hadn't seen any lying around.) The toys were spreading out, forming multiple "pincers" that would cut him off and surround him. But this set was closest to the storage room...

Sentinel-3 made a break for it, emptying his two current guns and darting behind the jury box. From there, he had a straight line to the corridor, and he ran flat-out, escaping the set just as they were tightening the noose. The guards were still tied up in the storage room, and the guns were right where he'd left them. As he grabbed them, he could hear the little vehicles approaching, and the room only had that one door. He'd known that he was cornering himself...but he was counting on the weapons to get him out of it. Each blaster had a dial on the side. Sentinel-3 only had time to mess with one of them-he turned the dial to the max, stuck the gun around the corner, and started firing.

It was his first time firing a beam weapon. The thing wasn't as loud as a regular gun, but it had a stronger kick, at least on this setting. He alternated between firing high (for the jets and helicopters) and firing low (for the tanks). Outside, the corridor was bathed in blue and green flashes. The toys were shooting at him, of course, but he'd stepped behind the wall next to the doorway. Only his gun-holding arm was exposed, and he was protected by the wall. Their attacks either hit the wall or went flying past him and hit the now-empty crates.

Sentinel-3 had heard metal groan and shriek, before, but he discovered what it sounded like when it was immediately shredded to pieces. The toys were being eaten alive by his blaster. Then, after just seven shots (he'd been taught to always count), it seemed to run out of power. Sentinel-3 cursed. He quickly dropped that blaster, raised the other one (its dial had been left on a more sensible medium setting), and repeated what he'd been doing before, firing around the corner. They might have been weaker beams, but he could still hear them demolishing the toys. At least _something_ was going right. When he hit the seven-shot mark, he held his breath, but the blaster kept firing. The maximum setting must have been extremely draining.

He risked a quick peek into the corridor: he'd taken out most of the toys, thank god. And, of the ones that were still operational, about half of them had taken major damage. Sentinel-3 pulled out his last fully-loaded gun and charged into the corridor, firing both it and his blaster. Without numbers on their side, the toys weren't as formidable, and he managed to make it past them, getting back into the "courtroom." The judge's bench was pretty much demolished, but he crouched behind the witness stand. When the toys pursued him, they were slower than they'd been before, and they no longer had the numbers necessary to surround him. He held his ground and picked them off two at a time.

Only a few of them were left, now. But Sentinel-3 knew that it wouldn't be that easy. He wasn't surprised to see a fresh group of guards coming up the stairs, blasters drawn, but he was relieved. It felt good to be fighting human beings, again.

Sentinel-3 threw his last regular gun at one of the helicopters-he was out of ballistic ammo-and he squeezed off a few more beams, trying to take out the remaining toys. He didn't see any in the air, but a few tanks could be creeping around. Sentinel-3 turned his attention to the guards. They were shooting at him, now, and he ran straight at them, returning the favor. There were six of them; he put down two and clipped a third as he charged at them. The beams burned them, but they didn't seem to be lethal on this setting. They must have been painful, though, because the seriously-wounded guards writhed and screamed.

As the remaining guards kept missing, and he kept getting closer, their eyes started to widen. He'd seen that reaction before, and he was sure that he'd see it again. Four guards were left. Sentinel-3 leapt at Guard #1, kicking him in the nose, and then elbowing him in the forehead. He casually shot Guard #2. Guard #3 got a kick in the kneecap, and it threw off his aim, causing him to accidentally shoot Guard #4. Sentinel-3 floored Guard #3 with an old-fashioned punch to the jaw. Guard #1, who was staggering around and bleeding, received a kick in the side of the head, a quick succession of punches to the ribs, and a green beam in the shoulder.

Sentinel-3 spun, making sure that there weren't any more guards around. He didn't see any. So, he dropped his blaster and grabbed four off of them-two in his jacket pockets, two in his hands. In seconds, more of the General's men were coming up the stairs, yelling and pointing at him. Their uniforms were slightly different; they seemed like higher-ranking soldiers, not just guards.

 _They're all coming from the next level down...that's probably where my target is._

Sentinel-3 was outnumbered, and trapped in an enemy base, but he felt better than he had in years. Daredevil had knocked the rust off of him, reminding him of what he really needed to be. He was dealing with impossible people and impossible weapons, and sneaking around was no longer an option, he'd have to fight his way through a small army of henchmen. It was perfect. Sentinel-3 wanted to be Captain America, and he couldn't think of a better job interview than this.


	24. Issue 3, Chapter 4

Daredevil was drowning in an ocean of noise and fear.

The noise hit him in waves, throbbing like the headache that it had already given him. It was a painful, near-physical force, and it had completely enveloped him. Some massive machine was underneath the floor; it would have been near-deafening even _without_ his super-hearing. Aside from his radar, his hearing was the sense that he depended on the most, and it was completely useless, right now. Daredevil couldn't hear heartbeats or footsteps or anything. (Whatever the machine was, he could tell that it was glowing, and that the floor was transparent, because he could feel the machine's light-produced warmth.)

And the fear...in some ways, the fear was even worse. After he'd gotten his enhanced senses, he'd discovered that the human body physically reacted to certain emotional states, sometimes producing smells to go along with them. A young Matt Murdock had learned to identify all the major ones. Fear, lust, and so on. As the terrifying Daredevil, he'd become a connoisseur of fear. He'd thought that he'd already come across all the variations of it. This time was different, though. The General's men were scared out of their minds, pumping out fear like there was no tomorrow, and Daredevil was practically choking on it.

 _I don't know why, but they must believe Halo Knight. They think that I'm "the darkness"-some kind of primal monster. Well, they just made your decision for you, Matt. If you want to break Halo Knight's will, play the role that they've cast you in. Let's see how he reacts once you've mopped the floor with his little army. Assuming you don't get killed, anyway._

The first ten seconds had been easy. Daredevil and Angel had charged when the soldiers' backs were turned; they were distracted by some situation that was going on over by the other stairwell, or maybe upstairs. About ten of the soldiers had broken off and headed that way. Angel had shot a few of the remaining soldiers with the blaster he'd taken, using the non-lethal level, and Daredevil had sent a few of them sprawling. The "sound cover" masked their attacks, but the blasters emitted flashes of light-Daredevil could feel their warmth-and it must have alerted the other soldiers. In moments, they'd turned and started attacking.

It was two against roughly sixty. Angel was flying back and forth at near-ceiling-level, strafing them, zigzagging to avoid their fire. Daredevil was fighting lower, flipping over their beams and lashing out against a tidal wave of goons. It was like doing acrobatics in a room that was rigged with constantly-moving razor-wire. There were endless enemies for him to attack, but his movements were hampered by the onslaught of beams.

The good news: unlike Halo Knight's gravity rings, these beams had heat to them, so he didn't need his hearing to detect them. The bad news: the soldiers were much more focused on him than on Angel, probably because they'd been told that he was an unstoppable evil. That was ultimately good news, as well: he was the one that was supposed to know what he was doing, so it was up to him to take the extra weight.

Daredevil ducked and sweep-kicked a quartet of them, causing them to collapse onto the floor. He jumped and spun over a beam, and when he landed, he brought down his billy club on a soldier's head. Daredevil snatched a blaster away from another soldier, using it as a club. He used his weapons to batter the soldiers that were trying to converge on him. If any got too close, they received elbows and knees to especially-vulnerable places, and he was always happy to leap away from them, as well. Daredevil had discovered that superhero suits made you slippery. They were tight-fitting, and there weren't any edges or folds to grab onto.

The soldiers kept shooting each other. Some of them became hesitant and went after him hand-to-hand; others bore down and shot even more, not seeming to care if they wounded their comrades. Daredevil had to constantly move to keep from getting shot, but that was the norm, for him. He wasn't a stand-there-and-take-it hero like Iron Man or the Thing: he survived by being a blur. In one moment, he was low, ducking and dodging and using quick-thrust kicks to shatter kneecaps, and in the next, he was above all of them, backflipping and coming down with a double-footed kick that knocked someone silly. The soldiers had trouble keeping track of him. The ones with slower reflexes were aiming down, and the ones with quicker reflexes were aiming up, but he was back at eye-level with them, bashing them with his billy club and blaster.

(Unfortunately, given the sheer size of the room, his usual billy club ricocheting wouldn't have been a good move. He had great aim, but it would have taken forever to bounce around. Also, he didn't want to accidentally hit Angel, who was moving just as frantically as he was.)

Daredevil charged into a pair of soldiers that were distracted by Angel, knocking them into another soldier. Then, he "blaster-whipped" a fourth soldier, dropped the blaster, and grabbed his shoulder. Daredevil vaulted himself into the air, making the man crumple in the process. He kicked two men in the face in the process of landing. Twenty feet away, a few soldiers took their time and proved themselves to be good sharpshooters. Daredevil threw himself clear, rolled sideways, turned it into a forward somersault, and launched himself low, using the other soldiers as shields. His billy club found knees and groins and hips as he scampered close-to-the-floor like Spider-Man. Once he was clear of the sharpshooters, he straightened up, using his fist to shatter a soldier's jaw.

He could smell Halo Knight. The mutant was on the far side of the room, by the other stairwell, and he must have still been dazed, because he was just sitting on the floor. Why hadn't they gotten him out of here? Something had to be going on upstairs; they must have been caught between two fights.

 _Who else is here? The hitman, maybe? Or did the Fantastic Four show up to bail us out? We could use the help, right now. We've got a puncher's chance against the General's soldiers, but if Halo Knight gets with it...we can't fight him and them at the same time. Besides, Halo Knight and the soldiers aren't the real threat. They're a threat to_ _ **us**_ _, without a doubt, but this machine is the real problem. Whatever it is, it sounds powerful enough to take out a good portion of the city. Or maybe even the whole thing. I can beat people up all day long, but I don't know how to work this crazy contraption, and I doubt that Angel does, either._

Daredevil ripped the blaster out of a soldier's hand, breaking a few of the man's fingers in the process. He threw it at another soldier's head. Not only was it a perfect strike, but it ricocheted to the side, hitting _another_ soldier's head. By the time that the first soldier realized that his blaster was missing, his two comrades were lying dazed on the floor. The first soldier ignored his broken fingers, getting into a fighter's stance...but the floor was vibrating from the machine, and it made him a little wobbly. The balance-related distraction opened him up to a vicious punch. Another soldier came up to him, trying to grab him around the waist, but standing too close to Daredevil wasn't a good idea. Some of his fellow soldiers accidentally shot him. While Daredevil's human shield collapsed to the floor, presumably screaming in pain, he flipped away.

He found a new crowd to play with. Daredevil turned the flip into a flying jump-kick, smashing into one of the soldiers and causing him to knock over some of his buddies. When Daredevil landed, he tucked into a ball and rolled, knocking his enemies' legs out from underneath them. Daredevil shot to his feet and performed a double-uppercut that lifted two soldiers off of their feet. Three of the smarter soldiers gave up on trying to fight or shoot him, deciding that they needed to bull-rush him, instead. Daredevil did a split-second handstand on the head of the faster man, kicking the other two in the face. When he landed behind the faster soldier, he introduced his elbow to the back of the man's skull. Weak punches and grab-attempts glanced off of him. He swung his billy club like a tennis racket, backhanding it in an arc that was painful for anyone in its path. Daredevil got two men in headlocks, ducked some crisscrossing beams, and kept squeezing their necks while he kicked anyone who got within range.

He was making his way toward Halo Knight, wanting to knock him out while he was still weak. Not very heroic, maybe, but effective. Angel would have had a better shot-literally, in this case-but, with the noise, Daredevil couldn't communicate that idea to him.

 _I could try swinging over there...but the ceiling is smooth, so there isn't anything for the grappling cord to wrap around. And, with all the crossfire, some lucky blast would eventually cut the cord and send me crashing back down._

The sheer numbers should have overwhelmed him...but, apparently, Stick hadn't been exaggerating when he said that his training would enable someone to take on a hundred men. And there was also the fact that these soldiers weren't 100%. In addition to being shaky from terror, many of them had received blasts from Angel, who was constantly making strafing runs. If they had blaster wounds (he could smell them), he made sure to attack them where they were already vulnerable. And they were constantly getting in each other's way. Daredevil wasn't some target that was a hundred yards away, in the clear: he was right in the thick of the soldiers, surrounded by quick-moving chaos.

One of the soldiers made a good decision. Instead of shooting at Daredevil, he shot _over_ him, preventing him from engaging in any acrobatics. Other soldiers picked up on the idea, copying him. But they didn't know that Daredevil's father had been a boxer. He was perfectly content to stay low, throwing jabs and crosses, and he mixed in some of Stick's lessons, as well. Daredevil kicked soldiers' knees and hips, and he gave them open-handed thrusts to various pressure points. One of the soldiers shot him point blank in the side, and he winced, but its temperature told him that it was a relatively weak beam. Many of the soldiers were turning their dials down, either to conserve power or to make friendly fire less dangerous. The soldier who shot him didn't even have time to smile; Daredevil immediately elbowed him in the eye-socket and knocked him out.

Ignoring the pain, Daredevil fought off another wave of them, his body almost moving of its own accord. Stick had told him about this. In truly intense battles, when you were pushed past what you thought were your limits, muscle-memory would go into overdrive, and you'd feel like an outside observer. Daredevil felt strangely peaceful, as if he were meditating. The universe consisted of this room and the fight. As he focused on the mission at hand, everything else fell away.

Daredevil was still aware of Angel, though, and he noticed when he suddenly stopped shooting. His blaster must have ran out of power. Daredevil casually grabbed a pair of blasters from a pair of soldiers, waited for Angel to look at him (he assumed that he was looking, anyway, based on the way that his head was inclined), and tossed the blasters to him. He had to time it just right, to avoid the over-everyone's-heads crossfire that was keeping him from jumping around. The kid caught both blasters on the first try: his reflexes must have been off-the-charts. But, with all the high-speed flying he did, they'd pretty much have to be.

He kept getting closer to Halo Knight. His side still felt like it was burning, and the noise from the machine was giving him a monster headache. With all the soldiers in the way, it was a brutal, bone-crunching slog, but that didn't bother him. His entire _life_ had been like that.

For some reason, that got him thinking about his father's old acquaintances. His father had never been the type of man that had friends-he'd thought that "friends" were something for women and old men-but there'd been some neighbors that he'd talked and drank with. They'd mostly been tradesmen. They were hard workers who were good at their jobs, and proud of how they were able to take care of their families...but they weren't ambitious at all. Deep down, these men were cautious, not wanting to rise above their stations. They did the jobs that they knew they could do.

Before Matt Murdock lost his sight, he'd seen them be afraid. Sometimes, an emergency situation would come up at their jobs, and they'd have to do something more advanced than they usually did. Something that tended to be left for the bosses, or the ones with college degrees. These men, who primarily defined themselves through their work, would have to do something that was beyond their expertise. They took it deadly seriously. Their survival, and their families' survival, hinged on their abilities...and their abilities might not be enough, this time.

Daredevil felt that way, right now. He belonged in the alleys of Hell's Kitchen, fighting men who were armed with switchblades, bats, and cheap pistols. Instead, he was currently in a super-science base, fighting soldiers who were carrying beam weapons. This should have been a job for the Fantastic Four or Iron Man. But he was one of the two heroes present, so it was up to him to get things done.

The thing underneath the floor was the real threat, and Daredevil had two plans to deal with it: one was plausible, and one was crazy. The plausible one involved the group of men that currently surrounded Halo Knight. They were wearing glasses and long cotton coats-coats that were too thin for outdoor use-and some of them smelled like chemicals. Scientists, he was sure. Unfortunately, there were also some dead scientists on the floor, and with his luck, they were the ones that actually knew how to turn off this giant gizmo.

Daredevil would probably have to go with the crazy plan, instead. And, making things even worse, Halo Knight stood up.


	25. Issue 3, Chapter 5

The darkness and the false light had come for him, but they couldn't change anything. Paul had pushed the button before they even got down there.

It took everything he had, but he managed to stand up, and he did it without using a halo. His back felt better-or at least numb. They'd given him painkillers, and they'd bandaged up his wound, too. The remaining scientists were actually looking at him with respect. In fact, now that he thought about it, the soldiers had looked at him that way, as well. It was a nice change of pace. He was using to being viewed as a guinea pig, a pitiful patient, or a freak. But Paul knew the secret history, the stuff that had been erased. Because of that, the General's people trusted him, and it had made this a lot easier.

There was a battle going on all around him, but he wasn't afraid. He was Halo Knight. Paul Battaglia had been terrified for years, waiting for his mystery illness/mutant powers to kill him...the space program scientists had helped him get his powers under control, but he'd still wondered if something would go wrong with them, causing him to suddenly die. And yet, from the moment that he'd decided to save humanity by ending the world, that fear had been completely gone. Dying was the plan, now. And, as long as he played his role, everything would work out just fine.

Paul saw the darkness tearing through the General's men. Above, the false light was flying back and forth and picking off soldiers. Below them, the generator was glowing brighter every second, and it seemed to be getting louder, as well. The floor was doing some earthquake-level vibrating. Paul created a halo and hovered into the air; he still felt something shaking. He was fuzzy from the blood loss and the painkillers they'd given him, but he could tell that it wasn't his body shaking-no, it was something else.

 _You're the light, or at least the 'replacement' light, and you just did the thing that will kill the darkness. It's over, and the universe knows it. Your powers are helping you to sense the gravitational disturbance or something._

Even if they killed him, the atomic generator would still overload and explode, and the darkness would be taken out in the blast. The General's scientists had told him not to worry. If the darkness decided to cut his losses and run, he'd never get out of range in time. After they'd told him that, some of the scientists had ordered the soldiers to kill them-the ones that might have been capable of reversing what was done to the generator. They were truly committed to the General, and they wanted to make sure that his rival, the Void, was eliminated.

 _Don't take any chances, Paul. This is too important. The darkness is capable of anything, and the generator is right where he can mess with it. You need to be Halo Knight one last time. Help the General's men keep the two of them occupied, so they don't have time to do anything with the generator._

His head was swimming, but he flew toward the darkness, firing halos at him. His first few shots were way off. Paul tried to blink himself awake, focused, and shot some more. This time, he was closer...but the General's soldiers were in the way, and they got hit, instead. The darkness had darted behind them. Then, something green and glowing crashed into Paul's right arm, and it caused him to let go of the halo. He plummeted and landed on some soldiers.

Apparently, the spacesuit had been made to withstand extreme temperatures, because the beam didn't burn him. Not his body, anyway. The right sleeve of his spacesuit was charred, but, underneath the silvery fabric, the padding felt relatively cool. The heat had made it a little deformed, though. He could feel how bumpy it was. A normal substance would have overheated, turned to liquid, and melted, but his padding just got a little misshapen.

Paul had roughly three seconds to think about that. Then, more green beams came raining down on him, and he curled up defensively and formed a halo, yanking himself away. He flew above the battle. Angel chased him through the air, firing two blasters at the same time. It reminded Paul of the outlaws in cowboy movies. Paul shot back, and while his aim was improving, Angel was more agile in the air. Also, he discovered that it was harder to aim when someone else was shooting at you. Angel had fired at him before...but, until that point, it had just been with those little guns he carried with him, which only had a few shots in them. The false light was really unloading on him, now. Paul felt beams brush his legs and his torso.

Some of the soldiers must have fired at Angel and missed, because there was a hole in the ceiling. It was about five feet in diameter, jagged, and its edges were charred black. Paul flew through it, escaping from a flurry of green beams. Angel was right behind him. Paul zipped down a metal corridor, went around a corner, turned, and fired.

Angel wasn't there.

Paul floated in the air and spun around, making sure that he wasn't sneaking up on him. He held his breath, waited, got ready to shoot halos...and nothing happened. The corridors around him were quiet and empty.

 _You're wasting your time up here, Paul. The darkness is the one you have to worry about. He's right on top of the generator, and god only knows what powers he has. Get back down there an-_

It wasn't fear that struck him, but uncertainty. Doubt. It was a deep, powerful sensation, and it made him shudder. Paul suddenly realized that the false light didn't "fit." The light and the darkness had jobs-roles-but what was the false light here to do? What was he up to?

 _If he isn't fighting you, maybe he's taking a look around, instead. You have no idea what else is in this base...there might be something he could use to screw up the generator._

Paul immediately took off flying, racing through metal corridors. As he searched that level, he wracked his brain, recalling everything he could about the false light. That was the last loose end he had to deal with. The darkness was dangerous, but everyone knew what the darkness wanted. The false light, on the other hand, was a complete mystery. Paul didn't like that. It was almost over, humanity was almost safe, there was just this one unknown factor still running around.

 _You need to figure this out, and you need to do it now. You always knew that Daredevil was the darkness. But, at first, you thought that Angel was the light. Then you thought that you'd been the light all along. But it was actually the Sentry, and you're just his replacement. You can't afford to be wrong again-especially not now. If you know what his role in this is, you can stop him._

Paul continued searching the level above the generator. For the most part, it was just a bunch of weirdly-shaped corridors and small rooms. But, eventually, he flew into what looked like a movie set, or a few of them put together. It was crazy. Also, there were half a dozen wounded and unconscious soldiers on the floor, along with little pieces of machinery. It didn't make sense. The noise from the generator was muffled, up here, so he should have heard them being attacked. Paul gave the movie sets a once-over and then left them behind, flying down a new corridor.

The painkillers were keeping his body from aching, but he was stiff all over, so he could tell that he wasn't in good shape. Not that it mattered. If the General's troops could keep Daredevil on his heels, all he had to do was find the false light, kill him, and then fall over. In fact, he didn't even have to kill him. Just keep him busy until the generator blew. There was a ticking clock in Paul's head, and it was giving him a sort of claustrophobia. He wasn't afraid of death-life was the real problem-but, the closer they got to the end, the more important his actions became. Significance was closing in all around him, and there was more of it every second. It made everything feel heightened. He _had_ to stop Angel from screwing this up, or else humanity would just keep repeating the same doomed pattern over and over. Paul wouldn't get a second chance.

Then, out of nowhere, a green beam hit him right in the head...or rather, the helmet. A startled Paul let go of his halo and crashed into the floor, skidding forward. He'd been going too fast. His body kept sliding along, and he tried to flail to stop his momentum, but it didn't work. All he accomplished was spinning himself sideways. His orientation flipped from north-and-south to west-and-east, and he finally smashed into a "sharp" section of wall where the corridor diverged in a Y-shape. His side cracked against the wedge-shaped metal. Paul used a halo to pull himself to his feet, and he instinctively reached for his head. His helmet didn't feel melted or damaged at all. In fact, when he looked back, he noticed a black spot on the wall. The beam must have ricocheted right off.

Once again, Angel didn't pursue him. Paul caught a glimpse of Angel blurring through a distant corridor. Positive that he was searching for something, he chased him.

Paul flew through corridor after corridor, but they all looked the same, and he kept getting turned around. He was never sure if he'd already checked a certain part of the level. A voice in his head was screaming at him to kill the false light and get back down there, to make sure that the darkness didn't wipe out the General's men and go after the generator itself.

"We shouldn't be doing this!"

The metal surfaces made the words echo; Paul couldn't tell where it was coming from.

"This is stupid, man. Daredevil said you aren't much older than me...we should be playing baseball and fighting over girls."

"STOP TALKING TO ME!"

"No, I think I'll keep going, thanks. Want to know a secret? I know that you're a mutant-and I think I'm a mutant, too. Pretty wild, huh?"

Paul kept flying, searching for him, desperate to find him-

"We've gotta stick together, buddy. Show some solidarity."

"FALSE LIGHT, FALSE LIGHT!"

"Yeah, I know, you've got this light-versus-darkness story in your head. I hate to break it to you, but, there's no light, no darkness. Just people."

Paul came around a corner, thought he saw something move, and shot it with a halo. It turned out to be an open door-one of the few doors in this strangely-designed place. The door tore from its hinges and slammed into the ceiling.

"Look, I'm a superhero, and I want to save everybody. Including you. You need help, man. But, if you can't admit that, then I'm done playing with you. Daredevil almost had you beat on the roof, and you ran off. _I_ almost had you beat back at the hotel, and you did the same thing. You've used up all your luck. Daredevil might not be here, but I'm more than capable of putting you down, and you know it."

"No, you aren't. I'm the light. The light wins, and that's the end of it."

Paul had figured him out. The false light had been put there to trick him-to distract him. _That_ was his role. At the beginning of all this, when he'd first started getting the memories, Angel must have been a sort of contingency plan. If Paul realized that the original light had vanished, the darkness must have hoped that he'd think _Angel_ was the replacement light. It would have kept him from doing anything. And now, in the final moments, he was still trying to confuse him. But Paul wasn't falling for it. In fact, now that he thought about it, maybe the false light was tricking himself, as well...


	26. Issue 3, Chapter 6

"Their dream can't save you."

The voice echoed through the corridors, and Angel tightened his grip on his blasters, listening carefully. He was standing directly above something that could blow up and kill him at any second...but it didn't bother him all that much, for some reason. Angel was developing a tolerance for this kind of stuff. He'd already dealt with wings popping out of his back, and the terrifying prospect of being a mutant. Then, he'd been trying to figure out how to be a costumed hero, which included being punched in the face and having guns pointed at him. After that, one of those "I think it's a good idea to end the world" super-villains that you read about in the papers had become obsessed with him and tried to kill him a few times. A few minutes ago, he'd been fighting dozens of soldiers armed with beam weapons, and a government assassin might be coming after him, too. A potential atomic blast was just one more thing that he had to deal with.

"I believed in it, too. They talked a lot about the future, and how they were building a new kind of world, one where I'd fit in. But they were just using me. Okay, let's say you really are a mutant. You think you can put on a mask, be a hero, and then they'll accept you? Forget it. If they ever stop needing you, or they decide you're a threat, they'll turn on you in a second. That's what they did to me!"

He was a superhero, now. Not a scared kid playing dress-up, not a freak that was desperate to fit in, but an honest-to-god superhero who actually had some idea of what he was doing. It felt like Warren Worthington III was a million miles away. In this moment, there was just Angel, and he only had one problem to solve. He was sure that Daredevil had a plan to deal with the big machine downstairs, so all he needed to do was keep Halo Knight off his back. Daredevil was an unbelievable fighter, and Angel was sure that he could beat the General's goons and deal with the machine, but taking on the soldiers _and_ Halo Knight might be too much, even for him. (And even with Angel helping him.)

Angel didn't like it-he felt like he was abandoning him-but there were only two of them, and one of them _had_ to distract Halo Knight. He knew that he couldn't possibly take out all those soldiers singlehandedly, so he needed to do this job, instead.

"Human beings have been ruining things and hurting each other for as long as we've been around. And now we can blow up millions of people at a time, and it won't be long before they find out about mutants. Can you even imagine? We have weapons that are more lethal than ever, and threats that are more terrifying than ever. It's a recipe for disaster."

"I don't care if they find out about mutants," Angel heard himself saying. "Come on, let's get it over with, let's get it out there. I think that people will eventually be okay with mutants, and you know why? Because going through this has made _me_ better. I was just coasting through life, man. The wings pushed me to my limits and forced me to find out what I was really capable of. Dealing with all this crazy, far-out stuff has made me think, and I bet it'll make regular people think, too. They can learn to live with it, just like I did. And so can you."

He was sounding less like Warren Worthington III all the time: not only was he using the sort of modern, casual slang that his teachers and grandparents hated, but he didn't sound as arrogant, either. Warren had always been snobby and condescending. And Warren never would have admitted any sort of weakness-telling Halo Knight that he might be a mutant, too. But he needed to try everything.

"You're dreaming," Halo Knight shouted. "You're all dreaming!"

 _Yeah, keep talking, buddy. Waste some more time, and give Daredevil a chance to beat up those guys downstairs. But...as good as he is, he might need my help. I'm playing it too safe. Halo Knight has to be dead on his feet, by now. Find him, zap him, and go help Daredevil!_

Angel quietly glided down a corridor. It was like a maze-a lot of twists and turns. Halo Knight kept ranting, but Angel wasn't listening to the words, anymore. He was trying to follow the sound of his voice. The echoes made it impossible, unfortunately. But his eyes were as strong as an eagle's, and when he was going through a four-way "intersection," he caught a gleam of light in the distance. A reflection off of Halo Knight's helmet. By the time he turned to look, Halo Knight was gone, but it gave him a rough idea of where he was.

He glided to the corner and landed. Halo Knight was down the hall to his right, his back turned to him. The blasters were practically begging him to use them. For one moment, the part of him that was Warren broke through; he'd been raised to be a gentleman, and it wasn't very gentlemanly to shoot someone in the back. But he thought about some of the modern-day aristocrats that he knew, and others that his father had told him about. In public, sure, they were gentlemen. But in private-in board meetings and other private gatherings-they could be as vicious as leather-jacket-wearing hoods. Deep down, New Yorkers were New Yorkers.

"Welcome to New York, punk," Angel whispered, firing both blasters.

The beams hit Halo Knight in the shoulder blades. He was thrown forward, sprawling out on the metal floor. Angel heard his head/helmet bounce off of it. Halo Knight seemed to be able to sense motion, now, but Angel had been a good distance away, and the beams weren't physically solid. They'd taken him completely by surprise. Halo Knight shook his head, tried to crawl, and turned onto his back.

Angel flew forward, strafing beams at him. He definitely hit him in the ankle, hip, and stomach, and maybe some other places, as well. But they didn't fully burn through his suit, so there was no way to tell how much he was hurting him. (His silvery suit was looking rougher all the time; there were patches where the fabric had burnt away, revealing deformed, partially-melted padding.) Halo Knight didn't even bother trying to stand up. He simply formed an anti-gravity ring in one hand, letting it whisk him away. Angel chased him, fired, and screamed.

 _Stupid-you should have shot him in the lower back, where his wound is-_

This dogfight was horizontal and contained. Instead of soaring up and down, they flew evenly, shooting through the corridors. Angel pursued him, but Halo Knight was simply faster. He still wasn't the most natural flier, though, and he had more straight-line speed than agility. When he took corners, he missed them by inches. Halo Knight stuck his other hand out behind him, firing blind, and Angel spun to dodge the gravity rings. Now that panic wasn't freezing him up, his reflexes were lightning-fast. As a kid, he'd noticed how birds could quickly alter course in mid-flight, and if they needed to, they could stop on a dime. It looked as if he had a little of that, as well.

Halo Knight gained speed, pulling away from him...and when Halo Knight suddenly turned right, Angel knew exactly what he was up to. He was trying to loop around behind him. Angel could have turned left and flown clear, but he was sick of playing cat-and-mouse. For whatever reason, Halo Knight wanted to fight _him_ , right now, and not "the darkness." It didn't make much sense, but Angel didn't care. He wanted to finish this. Angel stopped in his tracks, flying in the opposite direction. He couldn't see Halo Knight, yet, but he was charging him head-on.

They swerved around a corner, rocketing toward each other. Halo Knight fired some gravity rings at him, but Angel dropped a few feet, passed underneath them, and then passed underneath Halo Knight himself. Angel wing-swatted him into the ceiling. He then barrel-rolled so that he was facing up and hit the brakes, firing both blasters back (and up) at Halo Knight, who'd just hit the metal ceiling. Some of the beams hit, and some missed. Halo Knight screamed, started to fall, and caught himself in midair. Instead of fleeing, he flew straight at Angel.

"I'M DONE! RUNNING! AWAY!"

Halo Knight let loose with a stream of gravity rings, too many to dodge up-close, and Angel was forced to retreat. He raced through the winding corridors, trying to keep ahead of the faster Halo Knight. Whenever Angel turned, he did it at the last second, making it harder for Halo Knight to follow him. He heard him bounce off of a wall or two. It didn't seem to deter him, though.

 _This is insane. He's taken a bunch of beatings, he looks like a half-melted wax figure, he's wounded, he's probably drugged...and he's still going strong. Father always said that there's no substitute for drive, but this is ridiculous. Halo Knight must really, really,_ _ **really**_ _want this._

Without knowing why, Angel headed for a stairwell. When he got there, he flew in a tight spiral, going up. He emerged on the floor that was one giant training area. It had free weights, gym mats, all kinds of stuff. His wings suddenly felt better, and he realized that he'd been "cramped" during this latest fight. For an underground facility, the base had a surprising amount of breathing room, but its corridors were still too tight for his full wingspan. This level was like the one on top of the atomic generator: it was wide-open from wall to wall, and it had a high ceiling, as well. Plenty of room to stretch out his wings, and plenty of room to engage in aerial acrobatics.

 _Well, you lured him to a place where you'll have the advantage, and it's further away from the fight downstairs, which will make it harder for him to hassle Daredevil. But don't pat yourself on the back just yet, Warren-you still have to beat him._

Halo Knight was right on his heels. Some of his gravity rings must have accidentally hit the stairs, because chunks of the stairwell came loose and shattered against the ceiling. Angel turned and aimed his blasters at the top of the stairs. Halo Knight came flashing through, and Angel shot at him, but he was too quick. He _maybe_ clipped one of his feet.

Angel looped around him, firing nonstop, and Halo Knight returned the favor. Halo Knight had to be worn down and a little out of it, so Angel decided to go back to his dizziness strategy. He'd make him go in circles, wait for vertigo to set in, and finish him off. Angel scored more hits on him, but Halo Knight didn't seem to feel them. Halo Knight's aim was getting worse, though; earlier, his gravity rings had been missing Angel by inches, but they were missing him by feet, now.

 _It's working, he's getting disoriented! All I have to do now is-no, wait-his gravity rings aren't really hitting the walls or ceiling, they're mainly hitting the fl-_

Flat, circular free weights whispered past him and cratered into the ceiling. They were practically the size of tires; they had to be fifty pounds each. Angel pulled in his arms and tucked up his legs, trying to become a smaller target...but, unless he wanted to fall, he had to keep his wings spread out. One of the weights introduced itself to the middle of his right wing. It hurt, but his wings were always stronger than he thought, and he remained in the air. Halo Knight had tricked him. He was now firing straight down, and Angel saw more weights coming at him. And car-length gym mats.

 _Use the blasters, genius!_

Angel dodged the weights and shot at the gym mats. The beams cut right through the mats (creating clouds of whatever they were stuffed with), dividing them into oddly-shaped and somewhat "deflated" halves, but they kept coming. They were easier to avoid when they were smaller, though. Angel took off flying. He was primarily worried about the weights-they'd hurt more if they hit him, and if he shot them, he'd probably just turn them from cold metal into red-hot goop. That was why he let one of the gym mats get a little too close. He fired at the last second, thinking that he'd cut it in half and slip between the two pieces, but the blaster clicked empty. The gym mat smacked into his entire body and pinned him against the ceiling.

 _No escaping from high school, huh?_

He tried to push himself free, but the gym mat only became "heavier," and he realized that Halo Knight was shooting more anti-gravity rings into it. The stupid thing was smothering him. Angel let go of the empty blaster, clutched the good one with both hands, and twisted the blaster until it was aimed at the mat. He fired. Since it was point-blank, he couldn't cut the whole thing in half; he had to settle for making a hole that was big enough for him to squeeze through. Angel got an up-close-and-personal look at what the mats were stuffed with: namely, shredded newspaper. (When he saw the little pieces of paper fluttering around, it reminded him of his first fight with Halo Knight, but he didn't know why.)

Angel pushed through the mat, liberating himself. But, once he was clear of the cloud of paper-shreds, he was promptly shot with an anti-gravity ring. Angel slammed into the ceiling and cried out in pain. Halo Knight pumped a few gravity rings into him, and he hurtled toward the floor, crashing against it violently.

 _GOD-_

He tried to stand up, but Halo Knight wasn't taking any chances, this time. Halo Knight immediately descended and shot him with more gravity rings. Angel crumpled against the floor; he felt like he weighed a million pounds, he could barely even move his head.

"From now on...I'm fighting you... _my_ way," Halo Knight said. His breathing was erratic.

Angel strained one arm, aiming his remaining blaster, but Halo Knight shot it. It flew out of his hand and shattered against the ceiling.

"No more dogfights...no more chasing each other around," Halo Knight gasped. "It's yo-yo time. I'm gonna bounce you between the ceiling and the floor until you're dead, false light."

Angel simply looked at him. He didn't beg, and he didn't curse him. In the end, he adopted a casual tone of voice and said, "It's hard to take you seriously-you know, as a super-villain-when you use the word 'yo-yo.' I bet that Dr. Doom has never said 'yo-yo' in his life."

Halo Knight made a sort of angry snorting noise, and he fired at him, but Angel was already off the floor and hurtling toward him. His shoulder hit Halo Knight in the stomach, and he wrapped his arms around his waist. Angel grabbed him as hard as he could. He was flying, but his wings weren't moving at all.

"OH, SORRY," Angel screamed, ramming Halo Knight into a wall, "DID I FORGET TO TELL YOU ABOUT MY MAGIC CAPE!?"

Dr. Halloway, the original Angel, had given him what he called the Cape of Mercury. It was long and red and billowing. He claimed that it was mystic in nature, and that he'd used it to travel overseas during the War. Angel had stuffed it into a "pouch" between his wings-a flap of fabric that had been left over when he cut his wing-holes. The original Angel had never used the cape much, but Warren remembered it from the history books. Dr. Halloway told him that it responded to mental commands. When he'd been able to fly on his own, he hadn't noticed anything strange...but, once he hit the floor, the bundled-up cape had started to feel like an extension of his own body. It was now unfurling itself, wrapping around his neck and partially covering his wings. His body was still heavy, without a doubt, but the cape was more than capable of lifting him.

Angel had Halo Knight up against a wall. He used his wings to pin his wrists and started body-punching him, screaming the entire time. "WHAT'S WRONG? DID THE CAPE SURPRISE YOU, BUDDY? MAYBE YOU SHOULD'VE SPENT...LESS TIME THINKING ABOUT...REALLY DEPRESSING STUFF...AND MORE TIME...THINKING ABOUT SUPERHEROES!"

Deformed or not, Halo Knight's padding was still hard, and Angel's hands hurt from punching him. He pulled out his own guns, using them as blunt objects. Angel brought them down again and again and again.

Halo Knight tried to shoot him with gravity rings, but his hands were pointed the wrong way, and all he could do was fire to either side. Angel thought that he finally had him trapped...but Halo Knight head-butted him with his helmet, making him stagger back. Halo Knight slumped against the wall for a second and then used an anti-gravity ring to yank himself away.

 _Yeah, I should've seen that coming-_

Angel holstered his guns and took off, chasing him, and he immediately realized that the cape made him faster. But the "controls" were different, and they took a little getting used to. He felt like he was trying to steer a comet.

 _It looks like the cape can overcome the heavy-gravity effect...but if you get shot too much, it might overload the crazy thing. Be careful!_

"Tricked me again, tricked me again," Halo Knight was muttering. If not for his helmet magnifying his voice, Angel never would have heard the words. "Wasting my time-distracting me-have to find the darkness-"

 _Well, rats._

Halo Knight flew down the damaged stairwell, and Angel followed, his mind racing. He needed to buy Daredevil more time. Angel focused on Halo Knight, and the cape shot him forward, to the point that he was flying even with him. Halo Knight's entire body seemed to jerk in surprise. Angel once again grabbed him, pulling him away from the stairs. Halo Knight's free hand flailed, trying to aim at him, but Angel used his wings to bat it away.

They wrestled with each other as they shot through corridors. The two of them were back on the second level, now, between the training area and the atomic generator. A lot of corridors and small rooms, and those weird movie sets. Angel pushed Halo Knight into a wall, slamming his back against it, and Halo Knight returned the favor. They ricocheted back and forth like that for a while. Angel was afraid that his cape would get snagged on something and either tear or jerk him back by his neck, but it never happened. At one point, it seemed to catch on something behind him, but he felt the cape tug in the opposite direction, as if it were pulling itself free of the obstacle.

When they emerged into the movie set area, Angel happened to be looking up. He saw something, was struck by a memory from their first fight, and smiled. Angel then forced a hard U-turn, though it took a good thirty feet to complete it. He let go of Halo Knight, and they both skipped like stones, crashing into the restaurant set's tables and chairs.

Halo Knight started shooting gravity rings at him; Angel grabbed chairs and flung them in his direction. They were actually anti-gravity rings: the chairs flew straight up, and he heard them splinter against the ceiling. But they made a muffled noise, first, though Halo Knight didn't seem to notice.

No longer dependent on his wings, Angel rapidly hovered from side to side. He was almost a red blur. Halo Knight kept shooting, clearly frustrated that he couldn't hit him, and he finally touched down on the floor, so he could fire with both hands. Angel circled around him...and then the confetti hit.

There'd been a net attached to the ceiling, hanging directly over the fake restaurant. It had been full of green and red confetti. God only knew what a psychopath like the General had planned on celebrating, but it had given Angel an idea. When the chairs flew up and broke, crashing into the ceiling, they'd torn the net.

Angel landed and started walking toward Halo Knight.

Halo Knight looked at him, looked at the confetti, and cocked his head in confusion. He then shrugged, resuming his attacks. But his gravity rings didn't get far. Whenever one of them hit a piece of confetti, the tiny scrap of paper would shoot up or fall to the floor, and the ring would immediately break up. He made an infuriated noise and shot more of them, but the confetti was falling like snow and getting in the way.

Angel strode right up to Halo Knight and wing-swatted him. Halo Knight flipped head over heels, and while he caught himself by creating an anti-gravity ring, Angel continued to wing-swat him. Every time he did it, he stirred up the falling confetti and sent it swirling through the air. Halo Knight couldn't fight back. He tried to fly clear of the "confetti storm," but Angel quickly angled above him and wing-swatted him into the floor.

In Angel's very first fight with Halo Knight, he'd lost more feathers than he usually did (he'd been frantically fighting for his life), and one of them had blocked a gravity ring. His feathers were small, and the gravity ring had just barely touched it...but the ring still broke up and vanished as soon as it affected it. It was the same with the confetti. Once a gravity ring came in contact with something physical, it made it heavier or lighter and promptly disappeared. So, if you could fill the air with objects, no matter how tiny...

There'd really been a lot of confetti in that netting; it was still falling. Halo Knight used a ring to pull himself to his feet, but Angel kept slamming his wings into him, pressing the advantage for all it was worth. In another thirty seconds, the confetti would all be on the floor. Yeah, his wings could still kick some of it up, but not enough to block all of Halo Knight's gravity rings. Angel needed to finish this now.

 _Come on, come on...go down, already..._

The last of the confetti was falling. Angel was completely focused on Halo Knight, and he didn't feel the thing that was bumping into his ankle. His cape twitched in a defensive way. Then, a series of point-blank electric jolts coursed through him, and his entire body tensed up. Angel must have been hallucinating, because there was a toy tank attacking him. Halo Knight threw a wild, desperate punch with his left hand-or rather, with his left glove, which had partially melted and hardened into a club-like stump. The deformed glove smacked him right in the chops. It wasn't enough to knock Angel down, but it created some distance between the two of them. Halo Knight used the opportunity to turn and fly off.

 _For somebody that's supposedly willing to die, he sure does run away a lot._

Angel snarled, kicked the tank away, and pursued Halo Knight. His body was getting lighter, but it still felt heavier than normal. The electrical jolt was making his body tingle with pain, one of his wings still ached from getting hit by that weight, his back and front hurt from slamming against the ceiling and the floor, and the helmet head-butt had given him a headache. But at least he was in better shape than Halo Knight.

Unsurprisingly, Halo Knight headed for the nearest stairwell, going down to the lowest level. He didn't have that much of a head-start, and Angel was faster with the cape on...but he still too fast for Angel to catch. Angel cursed himself. He'd only had one job, and he'd screwed up. Now, Daredevil would have to fight the soldiers _and_ Halo Knight, and Angel would have to find a way to make up for it.

Angel felt the noise of the generator wash over him. Amazingly, about half of the soldiers were down, while the other half were trying to either swarm Daredevil or shoot him. The vigilante seemed to have a sixth sense: he knew exactly when to dodge the beams, even the ones he couldn't possibly have seen. Daredevil was holding his own, but Angel could tell that he was wearing down. He wasn't as quick as he normally was. Also, though there were fewer soldiers, they seemed to be more effective, somehow. With only half of them left, you'd think that they'd be less formidable...but Angel hadn't been there to distract them or shoot at them, so they were able to focus completely on Daredevil. And the smaller numbers meant that they weren't getting in each other's way as much.

Halo Knight made a beeline for Daredevil, aiming his free hand. Daredevil's back was to Halo Knight, but he immediately turned around, somehow able to sense that he was there. He casually flipped away from the gravity rings. A few of the soldiers got hit instead, and they crumpled to the floor.

 _Come on, Warren, clean up your mess._

Angel swooped down, scooped up a pair of blasters (they must have been dropped by some of the injured-or-unconscious soldiers that were lying around), and angled toward Halo Knight, firing. One beam missed, and one hit. Halo Knight jerked and kept going. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daredevil gesturing, and he immediately knew what he wanted him to do. Angel strafed the soldiers with both blasters, hitting some and scattering the rest. Meanwhile, Daredevil did something unusual: he got one soldier in a headlock, wrapped his legs around another, and fired his billy club's grappling cord at Halo Knight. It wrapped around one of his ankles. With the two soldiers weighing him down, he had Halo Knight caught. Halo Knight twisted around awkwardly, firing gravity rings, but Daredevil was literally jerking him around, so his aim was off.

While Daredevil did that, Angel kept shooting at the soldiers. It wasn't working well enough, though-there were still too many of them. The soldiers were starting to close in around Daredevil, who was struggling with Halo Knight, and Angel was having to dodge beams, himself. He wanted to shoot at the sitting-duck Halo Knight, but he was afraid to turn his back on the soldiers for even just a second.

 _No, no...we'll never even get the chance to deal with the generator, we'll be killed before it comes to that. God. Naturally, the one time I actually_ _ **want**_ _a miracle, it's nowhere in si-_

A flurry of green beams was launched from elsewhere in the room, but they weren't aimed at Daredevil or Angel. The General's troops suddenly found themselves under attack from the rear. Whoever it was, they were an incredible shot, picking off soldiers left and right. Angel scanned the room and found him immediately: some tough-looking man in civilian clothes had grabbed a pair of blasters and was fighting his way through soldiers. When the green-clad goons tried to converge on him, he engaged in some Captain-America-style moves to defeat them. The man didn't seem as naturally acrobatic as Daredevil, but he was strong and fast, and he looked like an out-of-this-world fighter, too.

 _Oh, great, the CIA assassin is here._ _But I guess miracles are miracles, even if they aren't quite what you hoped for._


	27. Issue 3, Chapter 7

He felt like one of _them_ , right now, and it was incredible. The heroes. Maybe it was a preview of what he was about to become, or maybe this would be the only moment in the sun that he ever got...but either way, he was thrilled that it was happening.

Daredevil and the kid with wings didn't need an assassin, right now. They needed a soldier. So, Sentinel-3 had stepped out of the shadows, grabbed a pair of blasters, and waded into battle. The scene looked like something that Captain America would deal with. A secret base, an army of bizarre soldiers, some kind of doomsday device. If Sentinel-3 wanted to wield the shield, this was the kind of situation that he needed to excel in.

He'd shot half a dozen of them before they even realized what was going on. They were fighting back, now, but it wasn't making much of a difference. Sentinel-3 was right in the thick of them. He shot, kicked, and elbowed his way through the crowd of soldiers. He was constantly on the move, using his closely-pressed enemies as cover. The General's men kept hitting each other with friendly fire. He was getting winged, as well, but he didn't really care.

His blasters were dialed down to a non-lethal level. He needed to conserve "ammo," and he wanted to avoid shooting through the floor, as well. If his beams weren't as powerful, there was less of a chance that he'd accidentally puncture the transparent surface that they were all standing on. That giant wheel-looking thing underneath was probably radioactive. He'd been taught about atomic facilities, and the transparent material most likely served as some kind of shielding.

Sentinel-3 ducked a direct blast, swung his own blasters in an arc, and shot four or five men in their midsections, including the shooter. He straightened his posture and slammed an elbow into a goon's throat. (During his training, a Japanese ex-cop had taught him the art of engaging in martial arts while also holding a gun in each hand.) A soldier that he'd disarmed tried to jump on his back-Sentinel-3 reflexively jerked his head back and shattered the man's nose. A second head-butt caused his opponent to slump and go limp. The weight didn't bother him, so he kept the man on his back, using him as a human shield. Sentinel-3 marched forward relentlessly, shooting anything that moved and stomping on people's feet.

When a desperate group of soldiers tried to rush him, he shot the first few, unleashed spin-kicks on the craniums and jaws of a few more, and pistol-whipped the last one. The man on his back jerked abruptly and slid off; Sentinel-3 smelled scorched fabric and skin. He dropped and rolled away from the six o'clock fire, came up all fours, and turned around. After doing a sweep-kick that floored everyone around him, he popped up low and fired at the shooter that had hit his shield. Two blasts knocked the soldier on his back. One of his guns ran out of juice, so he dropped it, gave the nearest soldier an open-handed blow underneath the jaw, and ripped his blaster away from him before he even hit the floor.

He'd been waiting for this moment all his life: saying that he was "ready" would have been an understatement. On top of that, the fight with Daredevil had pushed him to a new level...and so had seeing the glowing thing underneath the floor. Something inside of him had just clicked. Whatever that thing was, the city was in danger. It had given him something better to fight for. So many of Sentinel-3's missions had been dark, murky things-cold-blooded murders done in the middle of the night, which only allegedly helped the "national interest." This was different. The General's men were undoubtedly bad, and something undoubtedly dangerous was going on. Sentinel-3 had never realized it before, but, he'd been holding back. Now that he really _believed_ in what he was doing, he was tapping into previously-undiscovered wells of strength and willpower.

Sentinel-3 fired, and fired, and fired some more. Green beams were crisscrossing all around him, but he felt like he could see them coming from a mile away. Compared to Daredevil, these guys were slow...in his mind, it was like they were lumbering around, taking forever to aim and fire.

Above them, Daredevil and the kid were fighting the mutant. That was good. He'd keep the soldiers occupied, and they could deal with the space-program escapee. Sentinel-3 was giving the heroes a chance to be heroes. Once they'd beaten the mutant, he'd have to kill him, and they'd hate him for it. But there wasn't anything they could do. Even if they handed him over to the cops afterwards, the Agency would cover it up and have him released in no time. Sentinel-3 had a job to do, and he'd do it, but he didn't really want to think about it. Not right now. At the moment, he was just glad that he wasn't fighting alone, and you could argue that the big machine was more of a threat than "Halo Knight," anyway. His original mission could be completed after they dealt with that.

 _Don't focus on that part of the job-don't let it drag you down. It may not feel like it, but, killing the mutant is just as life-saving as stopping this machine. If the Russians can't get him, the country will be a lot safer._

Enemies continued to flock to him. He fired his blasters, dodged beams, and did a jumping kick that hit a man in the sternum. Sometimes Sentinel-3 ran while shooting, and sometimes he planted his feet and unleashed a flurry of green beams and elbows. The soldiers were increasingly wounded, but they were also terrified, and the terror was making them act irrationally. Sane men would have broken and run. But they were almost religiously devoted to the General, and Daredevil's presence seemed to be having some strange effect on them. They flinched whenever they noticed him.

Sentinel-3 hadn't joined the main battle right away...after whooping the small group of soldiers that had come after him, he'd taken time to grab the remaining scientists and "question" them. He wanted to know how to disable or destroy the machine. At that point, the kid had been fighting the mutant upstairs, and Daredevil had been holding his own against the General's men. The scientists hadn't wanted to cooperate-they were pathologically loyal to the General-but he'd gotten them to talk. It became clear to him that the scientists who could shut off the machine were already dead. Normally, the government wanted men like that alive, so they could use them, but Sentinel-3 didn't think they could ever be trusted. When Daredevil started to flag, and the mutant returned, Sentinel-3 had eliminated the remaining scientists and rushed to help the heroes.

He kept fighting. Sentinel-3 wanted to steal a glance at how the heroes were doing against the mutant, but he couldn't afford to be distracted. He _was_ distracted, though, because he kept imagining how this was going to end. When he killed the mutant, they'd look at him like he was a common criminal. He was sure of it. And, with that painful thought working on his mind, he didn't notice a soldier that was behind him and to his right, and he was shot in the back.

 _IDIOT-_

If the soldiers had been smart, they would have kept their distance and shot him from afar. But they were desperate, panicked, and dazed from their injuries, so they chose to dogpile on him, instead. Sentinel-3 kicked at them and clubbed them with his blasters. Shooting them was out of the question, right now. They were trying to get his weapons away from him, and the blasters' barrels were swinging back and forth in a tug-of-war, alternately pointing at them and him. He took some punches to the face. Sentinel-3 had been a wrestler, and he knew a thing or two about leverage. Though it went against his training, he let go of his weapons, seized two of the soldiers, and flipped them onto their backs.

His close-range training kicked in. Quick jabs, even more elbows, kneeing groins, open-handed blows to their noses and jaws. Sentinel-3 braced himself against the floor, lashing out with a forty-five-degree kick that snapped a man's leg. Only three or four men had him pinned against the floor, now, and that was a number that he could deal with. It took him mere seconds to slip away and get back on his feet.

Sentinel-3 punched one man, backhanded another, and kicked a third soldier in the stomach. The fourth tried to punch him. He sidestepped it, seizing the man's wrist and yanking his arm taut. A quick application of force to his elbow broke his arm. Sentinel-3 tore his blaster away, using it to shoot the first three men he'd physically attacked. Once they were down, he picked up a second blaster, rolled low, and came up sprinting and firing.

The machine had been deafening him the entire time, but the noise it was making suddenly changed. It was still just as loud, but it sounded more...uneven, now. Jagged and rough.

 _I may not be a scientist, but I know broke when I hear it. Something's wrong with that thing. Whatever they were trying to do with it, they pushed it too hard, and now it isn't running right. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Maybe it'll peter out and stop working, or maybe it'll overheat and take out the entire city. But...what if that's the point? They're practically brainwashed, and they know they're getting captured, so what if this is some crazy kamikaze thing? Oh my god._

Sentinel-3 leapt sideways, firing both blasters. He had them on the run, now, but he wasn't sure if it really mattered. Unless Daredevil or the kid were secret geniuses, they were up a creek.

He had no idea what would happen next. But...win or lose, live or die, at least he'd had the chance to fight alongside the titans of the Atomic Age.


	28. Issue 3, Chapter 8

"Daredevil" wouldn't be enough, this time. At least, not this version of him, anyway.

He'd fired his billy club's grappling cord at Halo Knight, snagging him around the ankle. Daredevil had one soldier in a headlock, and he'd wrapped his legs around another, using them to weigh him down. Halo Knight was pulling like crazy, trying to get free. He must have really been out of it-he was trying to shoot down at him, as opposed to just shooting the cord. Daredevil assumed that he was shooting at him, anyway; unfortunately, he no longer had a way to detect Halo Knight's attacks. The gravity-energy had never registered on his radar sense, and it had never produced any heat or cold, either. He'd been using his super-hearing to locate Halo Knight's attacks, but the noise from the machine was drowning everything else out. Daredevil was fighting blind.

 _Well, all I can do is avoid the 'line of sight' from his free hand, and just assume that he's constantly firing at me. This is great. I already feel like I've gone fifteen rounds with the Hulk, and we're on top of some crazy contraption that could blow up at any second. Might as well make things a little tougher._

Halo Knight pulled, Daredevil pulled back, Halo Knight pulled...and Daredevil flicked his wrist and shook the cord loose. A surprised Halo Knight crashed into the ceiling headfirst. He must have been too shell-shocked to create more energy and fly, because he fell straight to the floor.

Daredevil ran toward him. As he got closer, he could tell that Angel had more than held up his end: Halo Knight's suit had a scorched smell to it, and his radar sense told him that it was heavily damaged. He was moving stiffly, as well, even moreso than before. Angel had used him for target practice _and_ punching practice.

 _Great job, kid. Now I just need to start pulling_ _ **my**_ _weight._

Halo Knight was on his hands and knees, struggling to get back on his feet. He held one hand out, squeezing it into a fist, but nothing happened. Halo Knight must have been too disoriented to create more energy. In a boxing match, you waited for the other man to get back up. In a street fight, though, things were different...and they were underneath the streets, so it was close enough.

Daredevil kicked Halo Knight in the side, brought down his billy club on the back of his neck, and jammed his knee into the small of his back. He then stood on top of his wrists, pinning his arms to the floor. It wasn't how you'd normally pin someone. But, in this case, his hands were the danger, so he was ignoring Halo Knight's head and torso.

He was supposed to terrify him-break him-but he didn't think that it was going to happen. Not like this, at least. Halo Knight's suit was punctured, now, and Daredevil could smell his body. There still weren't any traces of fear. Unfortunately, with all the noise, Daredevil couldn't use either version of his plan. He had to settle for crouching down and hitting him with his billy club. Halo Knight currently had his face jammed into the floor, so it didn't feel particularly heroic.

 _This isn't good. There's something that we need him to do: Plan A is that I scare him into doing it, Plan B is that I talk him into doing it. But, either way, he has to be able to actually hear me._

Halo Knight was abruptly whisked away by an invisible (to Daredevil) force. As he shakily took to the air, Daredevil felt Angel come up behind him, and he started to point toward the soldiers, as he wanted him to keep them busy. But, before he even turned around, he noticed that the CIA man was giving the soldiers all they could handle.

 _This is the best opening you're likely to get-take it!_

Daredevil clapped Angel on the shoulder, mouthing two phrases: "Great job!" and "Let's get him!"

Angel-who was flying with the cape that the old guy had given him, and not his wings-zoomed after Halo Knight. (Daredevil was surprised that the cape actually worked.) As the two of them engaged in a dogfight, Daredevil ran underneath them, occasionally jumping or tumbling. He was avoiding any potential attacks, but he was also looking for an opening. It was frustrating, though: he hated being stuck down on the floor. Since they were indoors, there wasn't anywhere for him to swing from.

Daredevil was almost literally tripping over stray blasters. He didn't want to get in the habit of using his enemies' guns against them, but these could be used in a non-lethal way, and the fate of the city _was_ on the line...

For the first time in his life, Daredevil thought about picking up a gun. Stick had never taught him how to use them-not even in a "know your enemies' weapons" way. According to Stick, guns were symptomatic of the lazy, messy, Western approach to problem-solving. Stick preferred stealth and precision. But Daredevil was wearing a yellow suit, so that sort of low-key approach was already out the window.

Daredevil jumped, somersaulted, snatched the nearest gun, and came up on one knee. He squeezed off a single shot. It hit Halo Knight in the shoulder, causing him to perform an involuntary half-barrel-roll. Halo Knight straightened out and kept going, but Daredevil launched into a sprint, running in an unpredictable pattern and lining up more shots. He hit him three out of four times. Angel was scoring hits, as well. Every strike made his suit a little more misshapen.

 _Lawyer, vigilante, boxer, martial artist, gymnast, tracker, break-in specialist...and the best blind marksman on the planet. Not a bad résumé for an Irish kid from Hell's Kitchen._

Angel was forcing Halo Knight lower, and Halo Knight abruptly broke off from him, turning toward Daredevil and hurtling down at him like a comet. Daredevil stopped firing (Angel was right behind Halo Knight, and he didn't want to hit him) and flipped around to avoid any attacks. He assumed that they were missing and hitting the floor. Normally, if Halo Knight's energy hit a large, fixed object, such as a floor or wall, Daredevil could hear the material "groaning." But the noise from the machine made it impossible. For all he knew, Halo Knight wasn't shooting at him at all, and he looked like a crazy person. Angel had also stopped firing, since any potential misses would hit Daredevil. His outstretched hand was mere inches from grabbing Halo Knight's heel.

Halo Knight kept one arm aimed at Daredevil, bearing down at a rapid speed, clearly intending to ram right into him. Daredevil avoided him at the last possible second. For a brief moment, Halo Knight pulled up to avoid hitting the floor, flying sideways rather than down, and he passed by Daredevil. Daredevil smacked him with his billy club and shot him point-blank. Halo Knight kept going forward, and both Daredevil and Angel opened fire on him from behind. They hit him a few times...but his free hand was just sort of trailing behind him, and he must have been shooting without looking, because one of his energy attacks hit Daredevil.

Angel quickly darted away-probably avoiding more attacks-and Daredevil could feel his knees weakening. He was still standing, so it hadn't been a direct hit. Halo Knight suddenly stopped, reversed course, and rocketed at him laterally. Daredevil fired, but the gun flew out of his hand. Judging by the angle of Halo Knight's free arm, and Angel's reaction, he then shot at Angel to keep him away.

Halo Knight landed less than two feet from Daredevil. He swung his billy club at him, but his arm was slow and heavy, and it took a lot of effort. Halo Knight avoided it by simply hovering backwards for a moment. (He wasn't standing at all, he was just using some energy to hold himself up.) After some more presumable shots at Angel, he placed a hand on Daredevil, and the heavy feeling tripled or quadrupled.

Matt Murdock had never played football, for obvious reasons. But he'd overheard a lot of advice from coaches. When they were talking to running backs, their advice was always "Fall forward." Daredevil did that now. His body was incredibly heavy, so he used it, collapsing on Halo Knight and trapping him against the floor. He felt the wind get knocked out of the little maniac. Halo Knight tried to fly free...but, this time, the weight was too much.

In the air, Angel hesitated-Daredevil seemed to have Halo Knight trapped, but he was also bodily shielding him. _Just sit tight for a minute, buddy. I've got an idea._

When Halo Knight couldn't escape, he did the only thing he could: he shot Daredevil with the anti-gravity stuff, instead. Daredevil felt his weight lessen, and lessen, and suddenly break through to the other side. A strange tingling sensation enveloped his body. When he was jerked into the air like a puppet on strings, he made sure to hang onto Halo Knight, dragging him along for the ride. Daredevil twisted until Halo Knight was on top of him. Someone was going to crash into the ceiling first, and Daredevil made sure that it was his opponent. Less than fifteen seconds after Daredevil crushed him against the floor, Halo Knight's back cracked against the ceiling, and now he was pinned against _it_. Daredevil wanted to laugh.

 _You've only got two tools in your toolbox, huh? Up or down. Well, I'm ready for both._

Unfortunately, while the person behind the silver helmet wasn't a natural fighter, or flier, he must have been pretty smart. The ceiling was already weakened from errant blaster shots (Daredevil's radar could feel how pockmarked it was), and the part that Halo Knight was trapped against started to crumple upwards. Halo Knight must have been shooting it with anti-gravity. Daredevil tried to hit him with his billy club, but his movements weren't right. Instead of being too heavy, he was now too light, and his arm was moving more quickly than normal. There didn't seem to be as much "resistance;" it was the difference between hitting a baseball and hitting a tennis ball. Daredevil was having trouble with his coordination.

(Now that he was pressed up against Halo Knight, he noticed something. As much as he relied on his senses, there were some minute details that he didn't usually notice, or didn't usually _need_ to notice...)

By the time that he figured out how to compensate, Halo Knight broke through the ceiling and escaped. In the process, he shot Daredevil with his other hand, pumping him full of heavy-gravity energy. Not just enough to cancel out the anti-gravity, but enough to make him fall like a rock.

Daredevil prepared to splatter against the floor and die. So, when he hit something relatively solid, he tensed up...but it wasn't the floor. Whatever it was, it wrapped around him and slowed his descent. When he touched down, he did it lightly, just like Stick had always taught him. Some huge piece of fabric was clinging to Daredevil-it had grabbed him around the neck, and he should have felt like he was being lynched, but the fabric was somehow supporting his entire body while only touching his neck. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn that it was magic.

 _The original Angel's cape-_

He could feel how heavy he was, but the cape was holding him up. In fact, it was acting like it wanted to lift him off his feet, but he fought it. This wasn't the best time to learn to fly. Besides, he had no idea how to fight or do acrobatics while dragging a huge piece of fabric around. Seemingly in response, the cape wrapped itself around his body, practically mummifying him. The cape had somehow changed its shape...he should have been rolled up and immobilized like a corpse in a rug, but his arms and legs were covered-yet-free. It clung to everything below his neck, and formed a snug hood over his head. The cape wasn't blocking his senses; his radar told him that Angel and Halo Knight were in another dogfight.

 _Angel must have seen me falling and thrown it at me. Well, let's see what this thing can do._

Daredevil took a running start and jumped at Halo Knight. The cape practically _launched_ him, and he shot right past Halo Knight, traveling at an incredible speed. Daredevil was used to ricocheting off of surfaces, and he did just that when he hit the ceiling. He pushed off the metal and slammed into Halo Knight. Daredevil wrapped his arms around his torso, swung his legs up, and kicked him in the front of his helmet. Halo Knight shook himself loose, and Daredevil fell as gently as a spider. Naturally, Halo Knight fired some energy at him...but he could "see" it, now, so it was easy for him to tuck into a ball and avoid it.

When Daredevil had first fought Halo Knight, he'd discovered that gravity wasn't hot _or_ cold. He'd been forced to detect his attacks via sound. But, now that he'd been right up against him for more than a few seconds, he'd realized that his energy gave off a miniscule amount of warmth. Daredevil could feel the warmth that light produced; Halo Knight's energy must have had a cold glow to it. From a distance, it looked like a random temperature variation. The air was always full of minor warm patches and cold patches. Compared to the heat of the blasters' beams, it was incredibly weak. But, now that he knew exactly what he was dealing with, he could spot Halo Knight's attacks.

 _It looks like you're 'the light' after all, Halo Knight. Thank you-that'll make this a lot easier._

Halo Knight remained up in the air, turning to fire at Angel. Daredevil was back on the floor, now, and he jumped at him, once again tucking into a ball and spinning. He came out of the spin in a flying-kick posture. The jump carried him all the way up to Halo Knight, and he arrived in a matter of seconds. Daredevil's kick hit Halo Knight right in the lower back. Then, with blindingly-fast reflexes, Daredevil grabbed Halo Knight's shoulder, pushing off of his torso feet-first. He landed on the ceiling and stood there like Spider-Man. Daredevil wasn't ready to fly, but he could jump, and if he wanted to stand on a ceiling or wall, the cape would keep gravity off his back.

While Halo Knight reacted to the kick and tried to shoot at Daredevil, Angel shot him in the back. Then, he wing-swatted him, and Daredevil jumped at him again. This time, Daredevil grabbed Halo Knight around the neck and used his legs to pin his arms to his side. Once his arms were neutralized, Daredevil focused on falling, and the cape tried to drag both of them to the floor. It wasn't easy; it felt like a car in the wrong gear. Halo Knight's energy fought it the whole way. But the cape eventually yanked them down there, with Angel trailing.

 _That's what devils do. We drag you down...to our level..._

Daredevil once again introduced his billy club to Halo Knight's helmet, though he felt the impact all the way to his shoulder. That helmet was _hard._ Halo Knight created energy in both hands, using it to jerk his arms free and hover to a standing position, and Daredevil planted both hands on the floor and gave him a double-footed kick in the chest. Angel must have been on the same wavelength, because he swooped down and gave him a double-footed kick in the back. Halo Knight's entire body spasmed. Daredevil shot to his feet, hitting him with the billy club version of an uppercut. Halo Knight's head snapped back, and Angel jammed both guns into Halo Knight's back, firing point-blank.

 _Come on...go down..._

Halo Knight did indeed fall down, but it was only because he'd started spraying energy at them with both hands. Daredevil and Angel jumped/flew backwards. Halo Knight kept shooting wildly, not even seeming to aim, and his body was shaking with what were presumably screams. Daredevil and Angel continued to avoid his attacks. Once he had some breathing room, Halo Knight formed energy in one hand, didn't shoot it, and allowed it to carry him upwards.

Angel pursued him, firing as he went. Daredevil pursued him, as well, taking another giant leap. But he noticed something. For the first time, he felt the cape brush the lower, exposed part of his face. Daredevil could actually differentiate between colors via touch, and he discovered that the cape was red. He was wrapped head-to-toe in red.

(Not words in his mind, but a feeling in his gut: _something is missing._ )

The battle became a blur. Energy blasts, midair collisions, bouncing off of metal surfaces, using Halo Knight as a glorified pommel horse. Further away, the CIA man was unleashing havoc on the General's soldiers; fewer and fewer of them were left standing every minute.

 _We can beat Halo Knight and the goons, but it won't matter. This machine will still blow up. It's the only thing I can hear, right now, and it sounds like it's shaking itself apart. Two things have to happen for this plan to work, but only one of them is in my control. First, the machine has to stop making noise, even if it's only for a minute, so I can talk to Halo Knight. I can't do anything about that. But, whether that happens or not, I can hope for the best and have him ready. He needs to be contained and willing to listen. We can beat him, I'm sure of it, but I think he'll still be defiant. Just putting him on the canvas won't be enough. If there's one thing that I learned from my father, it's that you can win the fight and still lose your life._

One of Angel's blasters ran out; instead of just dropping it, he bashed it against Halo Knight's helmet until the blaster broke apart. Halo Knight didn't know which way to turn. Whenever he went to attack one of them, the other would step up to the plate. It was Daredevil's turn. Halo Knight liked flying, so Daredevil did another midair leaping-grab, and this time, he yanked him _up_ , body-slamming him into the ceiling. His anti-gravity energy was already pulling him up, so there wasn't any resistance. And it was a short trip to the ceiling. Daredevil turned him so that he was pressed against the ceiling face-first, hitting him in the shoulders with his billy club.

 _You can't scare him into anything...deep down, he's suicidal, and he probably doesn't feel like he has anything left to lose. Halo Knight is completely serious about ending the world. As Matt Murdock, you're good at making speeches in a courtroom, but you aren't Captain America. You can't inspire him to want to live. Use what you know: he's suicidal, he's serious-_

Something was missing. Something was missing...from "Daredevil"...

As the fight raged on, seemingly-random memories popped into his head. He thought about the paintings he'd seen before he lost his sight. Many of them were religious in nature, of course, and they'd often had demons in them. The devil, too. Demonic beings looked scary, without a doubt, but they were usually portrayed as _smiling_. They enjoyed what they did. And he thought about Milton's Paradise Lost, and how Lucifer was portrayed in that. A cocky, swashbuckling rogue; a cosmic underdog that had his anger hidden and under control.

 _Halo Knight takes this so seriously. And you do, too. But, at the same time, you enjoy it. You know it's wrong, but you do. Scramble his thinking. An earnest, vengeful urban vigilante makes sense, and lines up with reality. But what about a smiling man who looks like the devil? It'd be even creepier, because it'd go against reason. Give in, have fun, and use it to get under his skin. If he thinks you aren't taking him seriously, he might go absolutely crazy._

By that point, Halo Knight had escaped Daredevil's grasp, flying closer to the floor. Daredevil and Angel descended after him. Halo Knight suddenly turned and fired, and Angel was hit. With no hesitation whatsoever, Daredevil pulled the cape off (his body was back to normal by now), threw it to him, and plummeted toward Halo Knight. He crashed into him and knocked him onto the floor. Daredevil backflipped away, landed right in Halo Knight's line of sight, and gave him an inhuman smile.

For a moment, Halo Knight was hypnotized. He froze. Angel shot him, and that spurred him back to action, but something had changed. Daredevil could tell.

Angel veered down, firing, and Daredevil rushed toward Halo Knight, getting there a moment after the blasts had hit. The smile had finally escaped, and it refused to be locked back up. A grinning Daredevil kicked him in the throat, ducked some energy, punched him in the stomach, and smashed his billy club into his visor. Angel joined him, wing-swatting Halo Knight, and Daredevil flipped into the air to avoid the wing's path. When he came back down, he grabbed Halo Knight's wrist and yanked his arm. Daredevil couldn't hear his heartbeat, but he could feel it, even through the padding (and only touching his wrist). Halo Knight's heartbeat was noticeably different. It was faster, and still speeding up.

It might have only meant the obvious: that the painkillers were wearing off, and making it harder for him to exert himself. But, at the same time, he seemed angrier, even infuriated. When he attacked them, he was almost frantic.

Daredevil found himself smiling even more.

As Daredevil tumbled to the side, avoiding energy attacks, he felt complete. His new persona had always been a work in progress. He initially hadn't carried a weapon, and then he'd carried a standard billy club, and then the fancier billy club. He'd started out wearing a black bandanna and black civilian clothes, later switching to the yellow suit. This was of a piece with that. Rage-fueled vigilantism could be found everywhere in the world; a bright, chaotic, grinning devil-man, on the other hand? That sort of creature belonged to a much more frightening place.

The generator suddenly "skipped" and switched to a different, quieter pitch. It still sounded uneven, and there was now a banging noise to go along with it, but it was the chance he'd been hoping for. Since it had happened only minutes after he'd decided to try using a new weapon-a swashbuckling attitude-Daredevil chose to take it as a sign.

As Halo Knight continued shooting at him, he only backed up that decision. "STOP SMILING! STOP SMILING!" He was completely focused on Daredevil, now, allowing Angel to get some shots in. Halo Knight's suit had become so deformed that it made him look like a gnarled monster. In a hand-to-hand fight, it would have been way too stiff to function, but all he had to do was fly around and use his arms.

Halo Knight zoomed after him, firing energy. Daredevil suddenly stopped, ducked, and kicked him in the chest as he flew over. Angel was right behind him, zapping him in the back. When Halo Knight swung around and made a low run at Daredevil, he spun and flipped over his attacks, eventually flipping over Halo Knight himself. He hit him with an elbow-drop in the lower back. Halo Knight crashed and skidded, and Angel kept him from getting back in the air, shooting him and hitting him with his wings. (Angel was now using the cape to fly, so he was even faster than normal.) Daredevil joined him a moment later. Halo Knight used energy to pull himself to a standing position, but he kept wasting time trying to shoot Daredevil, opening himself up to attacks from Angel. One of the blasts hit him in the neck, and he screamed.

There was still some noise-energy blasts from Angel, the CIA man, and the shrinking number of ambulatory soldiers-but it wasn't that bad. A laughing Daredevil was able to shout over it. "Your plan has a hole in it, Halo Knight! You forgot something important!"

He might have been the devil, but he wasn't lying. This was Plan B. Plan A had been to physically and mentally break him, and then force him to do something. Daredevil was pretty sure that Halo Knight would die before he ever gave in. Plan B was to talk him into it...but it still required him to be physically defeated, because, otherwise, he'd never listen. Daredevil needed Matt Murdock's ability to reason with people. He didn't know if anyone else had tried to talk down Halo Knight...but, if they had, they'd clearly failed. They'd most likely been normal people, using normal arguments. It was time for something different.

 _I bet that the truth was presented to him in a direct, sincere way, and he ignored it. Let's see if Daredevil can get his attention, instead. A laughing, mocking demon that's tempting him to use his brain-a being that reason says shouldn't exist, but is daring him to be logical and_ _ **think**_ _._

"Think about your plan, Halo Knight! Think about everything you've said you believe in!"

They had him trapped, now. He was down on the floor, and whenever he tried to fly, Angel would force him back down. Daredevil mostly played the decoy. But, from time to time, he'd dance in close, delivering a solid shot.

Angel blasted him, and blasted him, and Halo Knight seemed to be moments away from collapsing...so, naturally, the entire room went crazy.

Tendrils of electricity suddenly leapt out of the floor. Daredevil obviously couldn't see them, but he heard them crackling, felt their heat, and even smelled them burning. The electricity hit Angel's blaster, and he yelped and dropped it. It hit all the other blasters, as well: the soldiers', the CIA man's. Halo Knight's helmet was even hit. Daredevil initially thought that it was striking anything metal, and he got ready to drop his billy club, but the electricity ignored it.

 _It's hitting electrical devices. Those things have circuitry in them, and my billy club doesn't._ Daredevil was suddenly glad that he hadn't added that modification that he'd been thinking about. He was toying with the idea of squeezing a miniature tape recorder and microphone into his billy club, so he could tape confessions.

The machine below them was quieter, now, but he could hear its electricity raging out of control. There was more banging, as well-some of its parts were starting to come loose.

Only seconds had passed since the electrical tendrils had leapt up. Angel was shaking his hands, which were clearly in pain, as were all of the soldiers and the CIA man. Halo Knight had one hand on his helmet, and he was hunched over a bit. Daredevil did a backflip and kicked him in the "face" with both feet. His boots were steel-toed, but it still hurt. Halo Knight snapped up and back, and Angel shoved him with his wings, setting him up for Daredevil.

Using his radar sense and hearing to detect the weakest part of the padding, Daredevil jabbed his billy club with enough force to shatter a concrete block. It ended up being the part that covered Halo Knight's chest. When the billy club struck, the misshapen material shattered and broke away. Daredevil immediately kicked his exposed stomach. Halo Knight fell flat on his back, sprawling out awkwardly. He didn't get back up.

"Yeah, got him!" Angel was pumping his fist.

Without their guns, the soldiers were hesitating. Some of them had tried to pick them up and use them, but they were fried, now. Daredevil could smell it from dozens of feet away. Most of the soldiers were struggling to stand, and all of them had seen Halo Knight go down. They looked at Daredevil and Angel, and then at the CIA man, who was still in good fighting shape.

"Wait! Wait, look, he's bleeding!" One of the soldiers said that. He was pointing at Daredevil, who had a bloody nose. "The darkness doesn't bleed! Whoever he is, he isn't the V...the, uh...you know..."

The soldiers started glancing at each other, and Daredevil thought that he sensed confusion. It was as if they were having trouble remembering a name. He had no idea what all that was about, and right now, he didn't particularly care.

The General's men started shouting at Halo Knight. Things like "YOU LIED TO US!", "WHY DID YOU MAKE US DO THIS?!", and "YOU'VE KILLED US ALL!" Then, they started running.

Angel started to follow them, but Daredevil held up a hand, stopping him. They were in rough shape, and they didn't have their fancy beam guns. The cops would grab them as soon as they got outside.

Apparently, the CIA man thought the same thing, because he also ignored them. He reached into his jacket, pulling out a standard ballistic piece. Then, he started marching toward Halo Knight, holding the gun in front of him.

Daredevil looked at him, dropping his smile for just a moment: "If you kill him, you're killing everyone in New York."

That froze him in his tracks.

"...doesn't...matter...if you're _that_ darkness or not..."

Halo Knight was still down on the floor, trying to speak through his no-longer-functioning helmet. His voice was muffled.

"You're still close enough, and I am, too. People really... _are_ terrified of you. You're dressed up like the devil, and you rule Hell's Kitchen. I have gravity powers...and gravity is connected to light. I'm the only one that remembers the true light. I'm the light, you're the darkness, and I've...already won. I pushed the button, so I'll be the one that destroys you. All the stupid religions and mythologies...some of them have to be real, and at least one will be vague enough to be triggered by this. When I kill you, the world will end, and we'll all go to a better place. I still believe it."

The CIA man practically did a double-take. That was news to him, apparently. "Are you kidding me? Oh my god, you're insane. _That's_ what all of this has been about?"

Angel nodded toward the machine below them, his fear-level raising a bit. "So, uh, what's the plan?"

Looking at both Angel and the CIA man: "Let me do the talking."

 _Daredevil did his part-now, it's Matt Murdock's turn. It's up to the lawyer to save the day. People would laugh at that, but this 'lawyers being bad' thing is a Western idea. In my faith, the messiah is a counselor...an intermediary, an advocate for humanity..._

Making sure that Halo Knight could see him smiling: "You've got more faith in humanity than anybody I've ever met."

Halo Knight shook his head, warmth flickering by his hands. He wasn't strong enough to fully create (or control) his energy right now. "Whoever you are, _what_ ever you are, I don't have to talk to you."

Daredevil put his foot on his chest. "Actually, you kind of do."

"No...I've talked, and explained, and nobody's listened. I'm done."

"I listened, and now you're going to listen to me. It's like I said: there's a hole in your big plan. You think that humanity is doomed, right? That we can't save ourselves?"

Halo Knight laughed, coughing. "I'm just a sheltered kid...spent half my life in hospitals and labs...and even _I_ know that. Human beings are only good at one thing, and that's screwing everything up."

"Well, you're a human being," Daredevil said casually. "What if _you_ screwed this up?"

Halo Knight went quiet, but only for a moment. "No, I already told you, I pushed the button. You're dead."

"That's not what I'm talking about, Halo Knight. What if you kill me, trigger the end of the world, and the afterlife is even worse? I mean, which god or gods are we going to get? What if they're glorified tyrants?"

Halo Knight's confidence and good humor immediately vanished, and he started thrashing. "STOP SMILING! THIS ISN'T A JOKE!"

Angel stepped toward Halo Knight, as did the CIA man, but Daredevil motioned for them to stop.

"If humanity is poison, and you're the one that came up with this plan, then it's poisoned too, right?"

"SHUT UP!"

"You want to solve all of our problems, don't you? Well, there are two kinds of solutions," Daredevil said. "Creative solutions and destructive solutions. Sometimes we solve problems by building things, or coming up with new ideas. Sort of like that 'Silver Age' you talked about. And you know what, Halo Knight? If it doesn't work, well, we can just try again. And again and again and again. Destructive solutions are different, though. If you don't like something, you destroy it, and you hope that whatever replaces it will be better. But a destructive solution only has one chance. If you're wrong, and it doesn't work, you won't get another shot. Everything will just be over."

Halo Knight was speechless, now.

"Do you know why superheroes don't kill? I think it's because, as much as we believe in people, we know that people can make mistakes. Ourselves included. So we avoid permanent, destructive solutions. That way, if we're wrong, there's still a way to fix things. But you aren't doing that. If you're wrong about any tiny part of this, mankind is doomed forever."

"I...I..."

"That's why I said what I did, Halo Knight. You _must_ have more faith in humanity than anyone else. You're willing to risk this entire planet, and it all depends on a person being one hundred percent mistake-free. That's a lot of faith."

Halo Knight was mumbling to himself, now. "...all that shaking I've been feeling...it isn't the universe tearing itself apart...it's Earth turning, and orbiting. It's like a gravitational heartbeat. Whether I'm alive or not, the world will keep going."

He formed some energy in one of his hands, and Angel and the CIA man both reacted, but Daredevil could tell that he wasn't gearing up to attack. He let Halo Knight pull himself up, holding his arms out to keep the others from attacking.

"I'm...oh my god, I'm just like all of _them_ ," Halo Knight said, disgusted. His voice was still muffled. "I came up with this plan to fix everything, and I was sure it couldn't fail. Oh my god. It's the same, it's the exact same..."

 _Now._

"You were right about one thing, though. You _can_ be the light. You have the chance to save millions of people, and you're the only one who can."

Halo Knight slowly nodded. In the end, it took a blind man to make him see.


	29. Issue 3, Chapter 9

Some ideas were so powerful that they didn't need to be explained-or even spoken out loud. One person would get the idea, say something brief or generic, and the others would immediately catch on. That was what happened in the large room above the atomic generator. As soon as Daredevil had finished speaking, Angel knew what he was talking about, and he was pretty sure that Halo Knight did, too. In some ways, it was the same principle that the Space Race was based on. You could solve everything by going _up_.

Angel watched as Halo Knight dropped to his knees, put his hands on the floor, and started pumping anti-gravity rings into it. Nothing happened immediately, but he could hear a sort of straining noise. It sounded like a huge ship creaking.

For a second, there, Angel had been afraid that Daredevil had snapped. All that smiling. But he seemed to be fine, so Angel was focusing on the CIA man, instead. He still had a gun in his hand, and Angel didn't trust him. Angel's body was back to normal, now, so he took the cape off, wadding it up and stuffing it into the makeshift pouch on his back.

"I'm sorry," Halo Knight shouted, trying to make himself heard through his non-functioning helmet. "I'm sorry!"

Angel looked down through the clear material, staring at the wheel-looking generator. It had an outer ring, a central core, and "spokes" that ran between the two. The thing was as wide as some buildings. It seemed to be more wide than deep, though...

"Hey, maybe you should start over there," Angel said, pointing to the closest end of the room. "This thing's shaped like a flat circle. If it launches straight up, you'll get a lot of wind-resistance. But if you start at one of the edges, it'll tilt upright, and it'll be more streamlined. Like one of those new throwing discs. It'll go even faster, then."

"Good idea." Halo Knight hovered to the edge of the room, and once again knelt down.

After a minute or so of Halo Knight firing more rings, Angel expected the floor to break away, but it didn't happen. He heard a lot of rumbling and creaking, though. Daredevil also knelt down, putting one hand on the floor, and then he stood back up. "The generator is encased in this stuff. It isn't tempered glass, it's something even stronger. Probably some kind of radiation shielding."

The CIA man started to ask how Daredevil could possibly know that, but Angel interrupted him. "What if the shielding stuff breaks away from the generator and, uh, takes off without it?"

"It won't," Daredevil said. "The generator is physically touching the casing-they're practically the same object. His gravity powers are affecting the generator, too."

It was true. Halo Knight was pumping rings into the floor, and they seemed to break up and vanish as soon as they hit it...but, underneath, Angel could see tiny specks of dust lifting off of the generator. That made sense. After all, his rings had usually hit their clothing, not their skin, but their bodies were still affected. Their clothes were touching their bodies, and the gravity effect had flowed right through.

"Quit looking at me like that."

Angel kept checking on the CIA man, who was standing around awkwardly. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself.

"Calm down, kid. I know what's going on-I'm not gonna kill him. Whatever was going on in his head, your buddy snapped him out of it, and America still needs him. I'm serving my country, it was just an assignment. It was never personal." When the CIA man said the last part of that, it looked as if he didn't quite believe his own words. But he shook himself out of it, adding, "He was out of his mind, and he's too powerful to imprison, so it was the only option."

"You're too intelligent to believe that," Daredevil said. "He isn't the Hulk...he doesn't have invulnerable skin. You could've put him in a secure hospital and kept him sedated."

That idea apparently hadn't occurred to the CIA man, because his eyes flickered with surprise, and maybe even alarm. Mumbling to himself: "Wait, why wouldn't th-"

"Is there anybody in the building above us?" Halo Knight still had his hands on the floor, and was pouring everything he had into it. There was now an all-encompassing noise that sounded like the world's longest string of firecrackers. The floor had always been shaking, but it was starting to jerk.

"No, the cops said that they'd evacuate it," Daredevil said. "It's the middle of the night, so there were only a few security guards and janitors inside."

"That's good," Halo Knight said, panting, "because there's only one direction this thing can go, and the building's gonna get trashed."

Angel shuddered. The generator would crash through all the levels of the General's base, and then it'd do the same to the towering office building that they were underneath.

"Have you ever...you know... _moved_ something this big?" Angel asked.

"This is what I was trained to do," Halo Knight said, his helmet suddenly reactivating. "Launching huge objects into space."

"That isn't an answer," the CIA man said.

"Have I ever launched something this big? Yeah, absolutely. This _heavy_? No, it's even worse than the space prototypes they had me-"

Suddenly, the walls started to crack, and Halo Knight's end of the floor rose up. The entire surface was now on a slanting angle.

"If this thing takes off like a rocket, the building above us will practically explode," Daredevil said.

"It'll be a lot slower than that," Halo Knight assured him. "It won't pick up any real speed until it's already in the air. When an object is this big and heavy, my powers take a while to affect it."

"I had an uncle that was in construction," the CIA man said, "and he knew a lot about demolition, too. This fortress is basically the foundation for the building, and we'll be punching a hole through the middle of both of 'em. I think the building will just collapse in on itself."

"Let's hope you're right," Daredevil said. "But we should still get out there and warn them. At the very least, they need to expand their perimeter and push everybody back." Daredevil looked at Angel. "Once it goes airborne, you'll be the only one that can help Halo Knight. You may even need to fly him, so he can use both hands on this thing, instead of just one."

"Got it," Angel said, "but what happens when everything caves in on us?"

"We use...the generator...as a shield." Halo Knight's entire body was shaking, now. "We fly underneath it...and press ourselves right up against it."

 _Yeah, that'll be easy-at first, when it's still relatively flat. But once it's up on one end, we'll be hiding underneath its edge, which is probably a lot thinner._

The generator's metal was groaning (it wasn't used to being moved), and the walls were making god-awful tearing noises. Daredevil sprinted toward the nearest exit. "Throw that thing into space, and don't let it carry you off with it!"

"Don't be afraid to come back, when you're done," the CIA man added, running alongside him. "I'll go to bat for you! Compared to some of the other people working in the space program, you're a choirboy. You're saving millions of lives, and once I explain what happened, I know they'll understand! You can still help us beat the Russians to the moon!"

It was just Angel and Halo Knight, now.

"...feel...like such an idiot..." Halo Knight said. His arms were pressed against the floor, and his hands were constantly emitting flashes of silver light. "I had this...belief...and I kept finding problems with it...but I was sure I was right. I came up with all these explanations, all these ways to tell myself it was still true. So...stupid. But I had these ideas about who I was, _what_ I was, and they just took over."

"I understand completely."

"You...ready to do this, man?"

"Might as well."

They flew underneath the generator-or at least, underneath the part that was lifting up. The other half of the "wheel" was still in the process of breaking free. Angel had expected it to be dark, but Daredevil was right; the transparent shielding wrapped all the way around it, so the generator's glow still provided light.

"Press me against it...so I can use both hands..."

Angel didn't like the idea of unfolding his wings in what was about to be an avalanche of debris, so he focused, and the cape responded. It leapt out of the pouch and once again wrapped around his neck. The cape would enable him to fly in a more "contained" manner, and it also gave him a chance to use his wings like limbs, having them push Halo Knight against the underside of the shielding. They were stronger than his arms, anyway.

"...feel like...I'm being smothered to death by giant pillows..."

"Yeah, keep whining, buddy. That helmet's got oxygen, doesn't it?"

Halo Knight nodded. When he spoke, he sounded stronger, somehow. "It pulls in fresh air when I want it to, and then it seals me off and uses whatever it's stored. The helmet's connected to oxygen lines underneath my padding, too, and it's already topped them off. That'll hold me for a while."

He resumed shooting rings into the generator, and Angel wondered when the underside would lose the "under" and simply become the "side." When that happened, they'd have to drop down quickly, so the debris didn't hit them.

"Hey-once this thing is upright, how will this work?"

"We'll get underneath it, again, and I'll shoot rings into it from there."

"Won't that make it flip end over end?"

"No, once it's in the position I want, I can shoot rings into it from anywhere, and it'll stay like it is. Trust me, I wasted years doing experiments like that."

The lifted half of the generator tore through the ceiling. It was deafening, and there was an avalanche of metal shards and wiring. Since they were underneath the generator, none of it touched them...but Angel could see it over his shoulder, and he could _feel_ it as it plummeted by. It was like standing with your back to a waterfall. That forceful, hurtling noise, and the creepy combination of mass and motion. It was making Angel's hair blow around.

As the generator continued to rise and tilt, Halo Knight said that they could move a little closer to the middle, away from the falling debris. But not completely in the center; they stayed under the half that they were lifting up. The generator was maybe at a forty-five-degree angle. Now that Angel was staring right at it, with no other distractions, he saw how bolts were popping out of the metal, and how the orange energy in it was blinking erratically.

Angel wanted Halo Knight to hurry up-it was a miracle that the generator hadn't already overloaded and killed them-but, the more progress he made, the less cover they had. The wide, wheel-shaped generator was getting closer to being tipped end-on-end. In a few more minutes, or maybe five at the most, the debris would be falling right on them.

Halo Knight was apparently thinking the same thing. "We can go lower, now! Right smack in the middle!"

As Angel lowered them toward the "hub" of the wheel, he suddenly heard cords snapping, and he spun his head around. The generator was being torn free from the power lines that connected it to the rest of the base. They looked like big hoses with suction cups on the ends, which attached to the shielding. Apparently, the energy had gotten through there, somehow, but it didn't seem to be leaking out now. The General's men had been trying to overload it on purpose, so it made sense that they'd seal off the generator to keep all its power in.

"Is that something I need to worry about?" Halo Knight asked.

"No, it's just a bunch of cables coming loose."

Objects from the second floor were starting to pour down-the fake movie sets, for instance-and Angel felt a sudden wave of resistance.

"I think we just hit the next ceiling," Halo Knight said.

Angel kept an eye on the debris. Now that they'd passed the "halfway point" of their tilting, the generator seemed to be rising faster. It was more balancing than lifting. The first ceiling had put up quite a fight...but they must have punctured the second one in no time, because the resistance quickly vanished. When it broke through, the generator went flying ahead of them, and Angel had to rush to keep up. It encountered the third ceiling in seconds.

"Hey, once we've got the generator on its side, how tall do you think it'll be?"

"The whole thing will be floating by then, so it'll be hard to say. But I'd say at least three stories."

Once Halo Knight said it was okay, they dropped even lower. The generator was incredibly close to being upright. Their cover-the higher-floating end of the generator-was a thin, distant thing, now. The "overhang" was protecting them, but it seemed like a sliver.

They were almost at the bottom (originally the side) of the generator. The shower of debris kept getting closer, and Angel was preparing to dart underneath, with Halo Knight in tow. They must have already torn through the third level's ceiling, but Angel hadn't even felt it.

Even with his helmet magnifying his voice, Angel could barely hear Halo Knight over the thunderous debris. "Almost...almost...there!"

The generator's metallic groaning finally stopped, and Angel knew that it was upright and balanced. They'd been pressed against the wider part of the wheel, but now, Angel took them underneath its curving, much thinner rim. But the generator's edge wasn't as narrow as he'd feared; it was like hiding behind a small garage.

"What is _that_?"

Angel glanced over his shoulder, straining to see. (The flatly-circular generator was standing up like a coin that had landed on neither heads nor tails, so looking in front of him or behind him enabled him to see the generator's rim, while debris was falling on either side of them.) There was a transparent hatch in what was now the bottom of the shielding. It led to a tiny, box-shaped room, which had an identical hatch on its other wall. The little room reminded him of a shared closet.

"It must be some kind of access panel!" Angel shouted, but he didn't know if Halo Knight could hear him.

Falling pieces of metal were replaced by falling pieces of concrete. Now that the generator was completely loose and in the position that Halo Knight wanted, the whole thing was rising. The changing debris told Angel that the top edge of the generator had breached the above-ground office building. The rumbling above them was getting even louder, and the generator seemed to be picking up speed. Angel had to hurry to keep Halo Knight pressed against it. (Halo Knight had to be running on empty by now, but he'd been firing rings into it the whole time.)

A multi-colored dust filled the air. It was grey, white, and off-white: powder from shattered concrete, powder from shattered plaster, and flakes from shattered paint-covered walls. Angel found himself coughing. In moments, they were aboveground, crashing through the building. They left a huge, hollowed-out "silo" in their wake. Office furniture and equipment was plunging down into it. So were doors, water fountains, and toilets. The hole stretched all the way down to the bottom of the fortress, where the generator had once been. Angel chuckled. The General had been determined to remake the world in his own twisted image, but his nightmarish vision was about to be buried underneath an avalanche of everyday life.

Apparently, the building wasn't as sturdy as the underground fortress, because they cut through it in no time. Angel was slapped by cold air, and he suddenly realized that they were breaking free from the office building. The entire generator jerked when it finally liberated itself from its architectural straitjacket. As the CIA man had predicted, the building collapsed in on itself, creating a huge cloud of dust in the process. Angel saw sirens-flashing cop cars and fire trucks far below. He had good eyes, and he could tell that the crowd had been pushed back safely. 

"...hang...on..."

Now that the generator was free, and overflowing with anti-gravity, it really did take off like a rocket. Angel didn't have anything to hold on _to_ , but the cape enabled him to keep pace with it. The two of them stayed underneath it, Angel still holding Halo Knight with his wings, and Halo Knight still pumping it full of rings.

 _Oh my god...I've never flown this fast in my life. The first time I used the cape, we were indoors, and it must've kept its brakes on. We have to be going hundreds of miles an hour. Maybe even a thousand._

The generator picked up speed, and so did they. Ever since he'd grown his wings, Angel didn't really get cold, anymore-his body seemed to be built for high-altitude hijinks. But he was actually shivering, right now. The wind-resistance should have been tearing their clothes apart, and making it impossible for Angel to keep his eyes open, but they were behind the profile of the generator, and it was shielding them.

"WE GO AS HIGH AS WE CAN," Angel screamed, "AND THEN WE LET IT GO!"

Halo Knight didn't respond.

Time passed, but Angel had no idea how much. One minute? Five? The air was starting to thin out, though, and they were above all of the clouds. Angel was absolutely freezing. The generator had returned to making a deafening noise, and its energy had shifted from orange to white-hot. It was really gaining speed; even the cape was having trouble keeping up with it.

Suddenly, Halo Knight was waving, and Angel realized that he wanted to shift their position. Halo Knight waved in a certain direction, and Angel went that way. Then, Halo Knight nodded, and Angel stopped.

 _Wait, we're right by the-_

Halo Knight suddenly broke free of his wings' grip, grabbed the hatch's handle, and yanked it open. He propelled himself inside and closed the hatch behind him.

It was a powerful idea, and Angel immediately understood it. "NO, NO, DON'T!"

When Angel first met Halo Knight, Halo Knight had launched him into the skies, with no way to get back down. Now, Angel was falling behind, and he had no way to keep up. The anti-gravity-infused generator was too fast. Once inside, Halo Knight resumed firing his rings, and the generator build up even more of a lead.

Angel started coughing, and, for some reason, his progress stopped. The cape slowed to a halt. Angel tried to make it keep going, but it wouldn't listen. Above him, the generator vanished into the distance, blinking away like a shooting star.


	30. Issue 3, Chapter 10

Paul had wanted to save humanity. Instead, he'd have to settle for cleaning up his own mess.

Just launching the generator into space wouldn't be enough. He wanted to get it as far from Earth as possible-preferably beyond the moon-so its explosion wouldn't prevent mankind from creating a new home there, if necessary. But that meant staying with the generator. Luckily, the little access room had some air in it, so he'd be good for at least an hour or so. Assuming the generator didn't explode before then.

 _Forget it, Paul...you've got more air than time. You're gonna ruin the moon for everybody. When the generator blows, it'll probably make space travel too dangerous for thousands of years. Radiation can last that long. You'll create a cloud of it or something, and that'll be the end of our astronaut dreams._

Paul braced himself against the rumbling shielding. He still wasn't afraid of dying, but he was sorry that he'd never lived. Paul just hadn't been able to let go. Finding out that he was a freak, his parents abandoning him, all those years of suffering and pain. Even when that part of his life was over, he'd still felt hopeless. And he'd thought that his personal emotions were everyone else's reality. He'd secretly felt doomed, so he'd assumed that the entire world was doomed, too. But at least he'd seen the truth before it was too late.

As the generator flew into space, Paul started smiling. He was thinking about the "Silver Age" label he'd come up with-and wondering if it was more right than he knew. In the old stories, silver was what killed the monsters. But, in modern times, it turned potential monsters into heroes. The Fantastic Four were glorified accident victims, their bodies had been painfully transformed...but, instead of becoming bitter, they chose to continue being explorers. Thor had started out as an arrogant god, and he was cast down by his father, which could have turned him evil. Instead, he became humble and chose to serve mankind. Tony Stark had made money off of weapons that were used in controversial conflicts; he later stopped doing that and invented/funded his very own superhero. Spider-Man went from selfish celebrity to selfless hero (and no one knew why). The Hulk was an actual monster, but he fought creatures that were even more dangerous.

They could have easily ended up as villains-and some of them probably would have-but the Silver Age had other plans. It was the same for Paul. Instead of being known as the lunatic that blew up New York, he'd be known as...well, the lunatic that _almost_ did that, but chose to sacrifice himself, instead. His death would give humanity a shot at a better future. His physical sickness was gone, but he'd been mentally sick, too, even if he hadn't realized it. A superhero had cured him.

Paul remembered some of the old verses that his mother used to quote: one of them talked about being "raised imperishable," and being given an indestructible life. That was how he felt. Sure, he'd be dying soon, but he felt strong, healthy. It had nothing to do with his body and everything to do with the age they were in. He finally felt it, now. The hope, the imagination, the wonder. That was what the Silver Age did. It took potential monsters, humbled them, and then raised them back up, better and wiser than before.

 _It's incredible, and you're about to destroy it. Once this thing blows up, space will seem scary, not promising, and we'll retreat back into our shells. You screwed up, just like we alw-_

The generator hit...something. Some kind of energy field. For a moment, Paul was terrified, thinking that it would cause the generator to rupture. But it didn't. Instead, the kaleidoscopic energy penetrated the shielding and washed over his body. It was a storm of cosmic rays. The thing that had given the Fantastic Four their powers; the thing that had _started_ the Silver Age. The cosmic rays didn't seem to be affecting the generator, but they were definitely affecting him, because he felt more powerful than ever. When his newly-formed rings hit the generator, the huge object lurched and vastly increased its speed.

Paul risked a quick downward glance. Earth loomed large, and a blink later, it was a tiny blue orb. The generator was going straight up. They were suddenly past the moon, and then both Earth and the moon were barely-visible dots, and they were whisked away to the side. They'd orbited beyond him. He was high, incredibly high, in the upper reaches of the galaxy. Paul laughed and kept firing. If it exploded up here, it wouldn't matter, because Earth's orbit was far below. He might even be in some other star system by now.

 _Thank god, thank god, it's working. But you paid attention to the wrong signs, genius. Your abilities create silver energy, and your suit is mostly silver, too. When you first called it the Silver Age, you should have known. You should have known that you were wrong. You belong to this age, and you always did, and the cosmic rays are just even more proof. But you could have done so much more, you could h-_

The generator erupted in a blinding flash of light.


	31. Issue 3, Chapter 11

New York was still there, and Daredevil wasn't hearing anything about an explosion near Earth, which meant that the sacrifice had been made.

Daredevil and Angel were standing on a rooftop in Manhattan. The sun was rising; Angel was watching it, while Daredevil seemed to be. He hadn't actually seen the sun rise in a long, long time, but he always felt it. It was a tidal wave of soft warmth that washed over everything around him.

After getting back aboveground, Daredevil had shouted at the cops on the scene, telling them to push everyone back. The cops were a little busy-they hadn't had enough handcuffs to detain all of the General's men, so some of them were still being held at gunpoint-but they'd listened to him, moving the entire circus a block away. (A few of the soldiers tried to run, but Daredevil put them down before they got police-issue bullets in them.) Luckily, this part of Manhattan was mainly business, and not residential, so there weren't any apartment buildings nearby. But it ended up not mattering. The generator had slowly risen out, and the office building had essentially crumbled in on itself. Afterwards, there'd been nothing but a massive crater in the street, which went deep under the city.

Daredevil had told the cops what happened, though he'd left out the part about Halo Knight being a mutant (or connected to the space program). He'd made sure to explain how Halo Knight had come to his senses and gotten the generator away from the city. Without his help, they would have been doomed. At that point, Daredevil had assumed that Halo Knight would be returning along with Angel, and he didn't want the troubled young man getting shot on sight. But, in the crowd of onlookers (many of whom were in their bathrobes), a different story was already forming: namely, that Daredevil and Angel had "beat up some aliens" and "scared 'em so bad they hopped in their ship and left the planet."

The CIA man had vanished as soon as they got out. A masked vigilante sticking around to explain things to the cops, while the government agent vanished to avoid questions...that might not have been a great sign for the future. Daredevil tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, though. At the end, the CIA man had seemed a little panicky, and he'd been muttering questions to himself. Maybe he'd finally realized that he'd been sent to do a job that didn't actually need doing.

Daredevil had swung up to a rooftop, and Dr. Halloway-the original Angel-had eventually made his way up there. They'd watched for the younger Angel together. When the expected explosion never came, Daredevil started to get worried. But, minutes later, Angel had returned, half-frozen. He tried to tell them what happened, but it took him a few attempts. Halo Knight had shut himself in the shielding, picked up speed, and somehow vanished into space. Daredevil had immediately understood Halo Knight's thinking. He wanted to get the generator as far from Earth as possible, so he'd had to stay with it. Maybe Halo Knight was already dead. Or maybe he was alive, and still inside the generator, creating more separation between it and their world.

Angel had thanked Dr. Halloway and given him his cape back, and Dr. Halloway had performed rudimentary exams on both of them. They were banged up, but he didn't see anything serious, and nothing internal seemed to be damaged. Daredevil could have told him that. Thanks to his senses, he was all too aware of his own physical condition. He'd also used his senses to check Angel. If something had been seriously wrong with him, Daredevil would have let the cat out of the bag about his abilities, telling them that the younger hero needed to be checked out.

Dr. Halloway had still offered to take them back to his mansion for further examination, but they'd turned him down. Apparently, he lived right down the street from the Stark mansion, which hadn't been used since the elder Starks' deaths. Tony Stark preferred penthouse living. (Dr. Halloway said that the walled-in mansion was an overgrown, haunted-looking place, and he hoped that Tony Stark would eventually find a use for it.) After telling them that they could always come to him for help, Dr. Halloway had left.

They were still standing vigil for Halo Knight. If he came back, he might need their help. Or-and Daredevil hated to think this-maybe his return to his senses would be short-lived, and they'd need to deal with him again. But nothing had ever happened. They just remained on the rooftop, Daredevil crouching by a gargoyle and Angel warming himself with his wings.

After a while, Angel said, "You told them, right? You told them that Halo Knight realized he was wrong and saved the city?"

"I did," Daredevil said. "But, we had something to do with that, too."

"...we did, didn't we? We helped save the city. I mean, millions of people! Wow." Angel paused, thinking. "You know, for a tough guy from Hell's Kitchen, you're pretty good with words. The way you reasoned with him..."

Daredevil thanked him, nodding. He'd used both of the tools in his toolbox-his fists _and_ his words-but he'd also added a new one. Call it the devil's smile. He'd never be as funny as Spider-Man, but he could disarm his enemies with his attitude, making them think that he wasn't taking them seriously. It just felt right. He wanted them to think that he was a demon come to life, and demons were grinning, gleeful things.

Angel angled his head toward the sky. "So, where do you think he ended up? Out in some other part of the galaxy?"

"Somewhere we can't even imagine," Daredevil said.

Angel suddenly snapped his fingers. "Hey, at the end of the fight, when the soldiers ran-what did they say, exactly? Something about you not being the darkness?"

"They were trying to remember a name, but they couldn't quite do it. The soldiers were still trying to remember when they were being arrested. In fact, they were really frustrated. It was strange."

"So...it's over," Angel said. "What happens now? I mean, am I your sidekick or something?"

Daredevil chuckled. "You're your own man, Angel. You proved that tonight. If you ever want training, or need help, you know where to find me. But I'm just a pair of fists in Hell's Kitchen, and you're one of the Children of the Atom. People like you will probably end up changing the world. If you ask me, that's the part of your life that you should focus on, and I'm pretty much useless in that area. You'll have to figure it out for yourself. But I do know this: when the truth comes out, the world needs to see that mutants can be heroes."

"I'm not scared of that, anymore," Angel said. "Sooner or later, everybody will know about mutants. I've accepted it. Before, I was kind of like Halo Knight: instead of giving people a chance, I just gave up on them...preemptively, I guess? I think people can deal with the idea of mutants. It'll take a while, but they'll get there."

"That's a good attitude to take."

"Well, uh...I've actually got class in, like, an hour. I'm supposed to take a test this morning, but I can't stop thinking about redheads. I saved that one at the hotel, and, yeah. What I'm trying to say is, I kind of need to go."

"So do I." Daredevil stuck his hand out; Angel shook it. "It was a pleasure working with you, Angel. I never would have been able to do this without you."

"Right back at you, buddy," Angel said. "I really learned a lot, and I mean that."

People were starting to fill the streets. Some of them were pointing up at Daredevil and Angel, shouting in amazement.

"I'm not in a _huge_ rush," Angel said, looking down at them. "Should we do one last patrol? Just ten minutes, in case we missed something."

"Sure thing."

Angel launched himself from the rooftop, flying, and Daredevil casually leapt off of it, firing his billy club and swinging. They were about to return to their (challenging) lives, but they deserved to bask in a little hero-worship, first. It felt good. It felt _great_ , actually. The sun was shining, the people were cheering, and the heroes were on patrol.

Halo Knight had been exactly what Daredevil needed to see. He'd known that greed and viciousness were threats, but he now understood that hopelessness could be just as dangerous. It could truly destroy people. Daredevil was fighting a one-man war to clean up Hell's Kitchen, and it could be a slog, but he now knew that he needed to find ways to stay positive. And other people needed hope, as well. Daredevil would always be a terrifying figure...but, at the same time, Matt needed to use him to give the citizens of Hell's Kitchen a little hope. Maybe his new attitude would help in that. A devil that smiled would make the guilty even more frightened and confused, but maybe that same smile could be used to calm the innocent.

Trying to create fear and hope at the same time...it'd be tough. But, in many ways, his masked identity was a challenge that he'd made to himself. A dare. Well, with his new strategy, he was arguably doing a double-dare. Instead of wearing one D on his chest, maybe he'd have to start having two.


	32. Issue 3, Chapter 12

It took a while, but, in the end, the inside caught up with the outside.

Like the rest of America, New York was undergoing a period of major change. And the city was full of people who were experiencing the same thing on a personal level-the Daily Bugle called them "teen-agers." Their lives were transforming right along with the world around them. For them, the future was up in the air: the promise of the Space Race, the threat of the Cold War. Civil Rights and equality between the sexes. The prospect of living in a world that was once again filled with gods, knights, monsters, and vigilantes. Figures like that had been around during the War, but this was peacetime, and no one had any idea what to expect. A new generation was about to hit the scene, and they were in new territory.

One of these young people was different than the rest. He'd _already_ changed, and while he didn't know exactly what the future held for him, he had a pretty good idea.

On the surface, he looked like many of the others. He had blond hair and blue eyes, and he could usually be seen wearing a stiff private school uniform, or an expensive suit with a skinny tie. This young man was careful not to bump into anyone, but he had a quiet confidence to him. If you knew who he was, you might have attributed it to the fact that he was a child of privilege, but you'd be wrong. He was getting his strength from a new source, now.

His body had experienced a radical transformation...but, on the inside, there'd still been a lot of the old Warren Worthington III. His new situation had been forcing him to grow up, but it was slow. Halo Knight and Daredevil had changed that. He'd already had the body of a superhero, and now he had the mindset to match.

(Warren wanted to get some better weapons, though: he didn't know if it'd be possible, but he was hoping that he could get his hands on a bazooka.)

Even more change would be coming. In some ways, Warren felt lucky-he'd gotten a sneak preview, so he was more prepared than everyone else. The world would eventually find out about mutants, and if Halo Knight was any indication, there would be more people with crazy ideas. Some of them would be bad, but he also thought that some of them would be good. Warren's past would be America's future. They'd find themselves in new, unprecedented situations, but they'd be forced to become better people. Those situations wouldn't be plots by the Russians; they'd come about because of truths that had been hidden for far too long. Warren had survived finding out his true nature, and Halo Knight had survived the truth, as well. Now it was everyone else's turn. The sixties were gaining speed, and there was no going back.

From that point on, whenever adults tried to convince him that he was naïve, he'd just smile. Warren had seen what was coming, and they hadn't. But they'd find out soon enough.

He kept living his civilian life, but it didn't feel as significant. The school just felt...small. He'd nearly died, and helped to save the city, and the other boys were complaining about math tests and radios that didn't work. Warren had perspective, now. But it was fun to hear them talk about what had happened. Later that day, during classes, the front section of the Daily Bugle was furtively passed around. The headline read "NEW YORK'S 'ALPHA AND OMEGA' BATTLE MYSTERIOUS SPACEMAN". Warren didn't know why Daredevil was the Omega, but Warren definitely felt like the Alpha-he was at the beginning of his life, and he couldn't wait to see where it went.

From the moment that his wings first started to appear, he'd been bracing for a life of isolation. He was a mutant, a freak, and he couldn't possibly risk telling anyone. Even when he'd decided to become Angel, he'd still assumed that he'd be on his own. But working with Daredevil had changed his thinking. Daredevil hadn't cared that he was a mutant...and they'd made a good team, too. Warren was confident enough to do this solo, but he now knew that he could do it with someone else, as well.

Growing up, he'd always thought that the Worthingtons were the biggest thing around. He now knew better. There were bigger things, more important things. Wars that were just waiting to be fought. Warren was ready to be part of something greater than himself...part of a cause.

Later in the sixties, he'd be onboard the Blackbird with Scott, Hank, Bobby, Alex, Lorna-and, most importantly, Jean. They'd be using the craft's high-powered radio gear to listen to some new Rolling Stones songs. One of those songs would mention having sympathy for the devil, and another one would talk about heaven being just a scream away. Warren would think back to this part of his life and smile.


	33. Issue 3, Epilogue 1

Paul Battaglia woke up in a pitch black room, but it was quickly flooded with brightness.

He shielded his eyes and squinted. His body was sore, but it seemed to be healed, and he slowly sat up. Paul had no idea where he was, or how he'd gotten there. His mind was drowning in fog. He was in some fancy hospital bed, but he wasn't handcuffed or anything. The room he was in looked like something out of a spaceship. There weren't any windows, but there was a lot of strange-looking medical equipment. He slowly swung his legs out, and he glanced around for his Halo Knight suit, but it wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Paul stood and tested his powers. They still worked...but, when he looked down to check, he was stunned to discover what he was wearing. Blue pants with an elastic waist, like the kind that boxers used when they worked out. That was normal enough, but his shirt was bright yellow and had a strange symbol on it, a yellow "S" in a blue circle. When Paul looked at it in the mirror, he nearly passed out. All of the memories came flooding back to him at once. The Sentry, the Void.

Suddenly, the room's metal door slid open, and Paul couldn't help but run through it. He emerged in an odds-and-ends storage room. There were boxes of...memorabilia, most people probably would have called it. Clothing, toys, pennants, dolls, posters, buttons, and more. All of it featured the Sentry or his symbol. There were dozens of newspapers framed on the wall, which described events that only Paul remembered.

 _This is insane. I was in space...I have to be on some kind of ship..._

The place was definitely big enough to be a spaceship, and weird enough, too. Metal everything, big cathedral-like rooms. Even the General's underground fortress hadn't been as strange as this. Wherever he was, it was...beautiful, and also sort of alien. Some advanced being had clearly designed it.

"Hello, Mr. Battaglia," a clicking voice said.

He didn't see anyone, but he formed a ring and flew, desperate to escape. His ring seemed to be more powerful than usual, it was really pulling him along.

"Please remain calm. I just want to talk with you about something."

The voice was coming through some sort of P.A. system; there was no getting away from it. It echoed through the palace-like ship...

...except it wasn't a ship at all.

Paul flew around a corner, froze, and his mouth hung open. He saw a sunlit New York City. But it was impossible: for one thing, he'd been in deep space. Also, he was looking at Manhattan from a certain angle, and he knew there wasn't a tall building here. There was just empty air.

"Welcome to the Watchtower, Mr. Battaglia."

More memories. "Wait, the _Sentry's_ Watchtower?"

"Yes. I am C.L.O.C.-the Centrally Located Organic Computer-and my job is to maintain the Watchtower until the Sentry can resume his work."

"How did I get here?"

"After you passed through the storm of cosmic rays, your powers became so strong that you leapt into deep space. The generator-"

"Oh my god, the generator! Did I get it far enough away?"

"It ended up being sucked into a black hole, so, yes, I'd say so. The Sentry ordered me not to interfere with humanity during his 'hibernation,' but I felt it necessary to retrieve you before you perished. My facilities have long-range teleportation gear. Truly long-range, Mr. Battaglia."

"Thank you, but...you shouldn't have saved me," Paul said quietly. "I don't deserve it."

"I am not programmed to make those sorts of determinations, Mr. Battaglia. I am programmed to assist the Sentry. And, according to my calculations, you have a role to play in that work."

"...what?"

Glowing arrows appeared on the floor's metal tiles, and C.L.O.C. instructed Paul to follow them.

Paul created a ring and hovered along. His rings were now more powerful, and he had to concentrate to create a weaker one, so he didn't smack his head on the ceiling.

The arrows led him to a large monitor room of some sort. But the monitors showed a normal, domestic setting: a suburban house and its interior. Paul saw a bored-looking blond man and a tired-looking woman. They were sitting at a table, eating and not talking to each other.

"Is that...is that the Sentry?"

"Yes, Mr. Battaglia," C.L.O.C. said. "But he had to stop being the Sentry...and erase everyone's memories, and even change reality itself. Dr. Richards and Dr. Strange helped. Incidentally, I've always thought that Dr. Richards should be called _Dr._ Fantastic, but that's beside the point. The Sentry's powers have an extremely dangerous side-effect. They create the Void, a separate being, who acts as a balancing force. Whenever he saved a life, the Void would take another life. The only way to stop him was for the Sentry to cease his work and erase his own memory."

Paul just floated there, taking it all in. _They're the same? Oh my god, Angel was right. There's no light, no darkness, just people._

"But...why do you need me?"

"You have a very strong mind, Mr. Battaglia. Your gravity-based abilities greatly strengthen your memory. I don't know how, exactly, but they do. Your mind should have been wiped along with everyone else's. But your mutant power made your brain immune to powerful forces, both scientific and magical-and the Sentry could use that sort of help."

Paul laughed. "You're saying...you're saying my mental issues are a _good_ thing?"

"Yes, obviously. The Sentry has much to offer your species, Mr. Battaglia, but his mental condition prevents him from doing so. If we could study your energy-based neural resistance, and find a way to duplicate it in the Sentry's brain..."

"...then you might be able to have the Sentry without the Void."

"Exactly," C.L.O.C. said. "As I believe you already know, gravity and light are connected, so it's entirely possible."

Paul thought about it. As powerful as the other heroes were, the Sentry was almost in a class by himself. He didn't know what the future had in store, but, he was sure that the heroes would need all the help they could get.

 _You focused so much on your own suffering, and your own healing...it's time to help somebody else heal, for a change._ _ **You**_ _may not be able to save all of humanity, but the Sentry has, and he could do it again. This could be your second chance to help people._

"In the past, the Sentry had a sidekick," C.L.O.C. said. "It...did not work out well, but I know that he's always wanted to try again. If you do this, Mr. Battaglia, you could very well end up being his new sidekick."

"sidekick" sounded kind of old-fashioned, but Paul was about to embrace a bunch of radical ideas. The Sentry was definitely part of the Silver Age. Science, progress, a new vision for their species. If this worked, it'd transform humanity. Things were already radically different, and they'd probably only get crazier, so it might be a good idea to keep one old-fashioned thing.

"I'd like to be a sidekick," Paul said, lowering himself to the floor. " 'Halo Knight' was supposed to be a hero's helper in the first place."

"Excellent," C.L.O.C. said. "Now, I have to warn you, this could take years. I'll have to perform tests-many tests-but it won't be boring for you. I'll require your insights and powers-related expertise."

"I'm used to tests, and I've got all the time in the world," Paul said. He'd decided to trade the Space Race for an even crazier scheme: namely, trying to resurrect a god (without the accompanying devil). The light had been real after all...it just needed a little help. Paul finally understood just how promising the Silver Age was; if the Sentry could be safely reintroduced to it, humanity would be in even better shape.

It was an incredible dream, and it would _have_ to be enough...


	34. Issue 3, Epilogue 2

The operation was only a few weeks away-this was their last chance to turn back.

They gathered at a hunting lodge in the high desert. It was situated on a jagged, surprisingly-forested mountain. The lodge was an expensive, two-story place, not some tiny little shack. At the moment, the timber-and-stone building was surrounded by dark sedans. Heavily-armed plainclothes guards were patrolling the area. The men inside didn't want to meet-it was a risk-but, given the importance of what was about to happen, they felt that they needed to make sure that everyone was still in agreement.

Only one of them lived in the region. The others had traveled from far away, and by covert means. Sneaking onto a train in a fedora and dark glasses, giving a false name at the airport, dressing like middle-class men. These men often needed to make unofficial business trips, so their loved ones hadn't been suspicious.

It was late afternoon. Perfectly-rectangular shafts of sunlight were streaming in through the windows, illuminating the floating dust. The lodge's interior had been done in a rustic style, with rugs and wall hangings that were done in Southwestern patterns, and with Southwestern colors. A huge stone chimney sat unused. The men met in the living room, which was just off of the stairs. There was a strange device in the middle of the room-a phonograph-sized scrambler that would prevent them from being electronically surveilled or recorded.

They'd kept the circle as small as possible; only five men knew every detail of the operation:

There was the Slick Handler. A charming, well-bred Ivy Leaguer who now worked for the CIA, and ran assets for them. He was the youngest of the five men, but he had the most important job.

The Pentagon Bureaucrat. This Army lifer had finally retired from the service, but he'd taken an office job for the Department of Defense. He hated it, he really did, but those white-collar boys needed a real man to explain certain things to them, and he'd taken it upon himself to do so.

The Southern Senator. He had three settings: angry, indignant, and outraged. If you hadn't known that he was a politician, it would have been easy to assume that his life's goal was to get his picture next to the dictionary definition of "seething."

The Lone Star Oilman. As far as he was concerned, the West was the only frontier that mattered. All this newfangled space garbage was just a necessary evil-keeping up with the Commies and all that. Sure, it was nice that they'd set up shop in Houston, but...

And, finally, there was the High-Ranking CIA Lackey, a man who was still waiting for his turn in the top spot. He'd fixed problems for all sorts of important people, and it was past time for him to get something in return.

"We have to do it," the Southern Senator said, pounding his fist on the arm of his chair. "It's the only way to save the country."

The Lone Star Oilman was fidgeting with his bolo tie, but he stopped long enough to nod. "I agree...and, to be honest, I don't even know what we're doing here. There's nothing to discuss. The only question is, are our men ready?"

"They're ready," the Slick Handler said, maybe a little too casually. "Sentinel-8 and Agent Branch are more than capable of doing the job, and so are their backups. We also have multiple, redundant support crews in place, and they're all lie-detector-confirmed and truth-serum-confirmed to be trustworthy. One set of crews for Recon and Interference, and another for after-the-fact Extraction."

"As far as I'm concerned, there was only one thing holding us back, and it's been dealt with." The High-Ranking CIA Lackey's face wasn't as confident as his words. "According to our intel, the space-program mutant is dead. Dr. Richards says that there was a 'cosmic-level event' in a distant part of our galaxy. He charted the course the generator was on, and it matches up."

"That's wonderful...but that wasn't the only issue," the Pentagon Bureaucrat said. "I still say that Sentinel-3 should be one of the two shooters. I've read his file, and he's an amazing young man. Plus, from the sound of it, he took care of our mutie problem for us. God only knows how he tricked him into flying the generator clear."

"Nothing has changed," the Slick Handler muttered. "Sentinel-3 is still pro-Kennedy. And, to be honest with you, I don't even know if he survived his last assignment. He hasn't checked back in, yet. But it can take them a while to do that."

The Lone Star Oilman chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "Just dangle that ol' shield in front of his face."

"That's what I've been doing," the Slick Handler said, glaring at the oilman, "but he hasn't budged an inch. I've dropped hints, and told him that a 'change of attitude' would increase his chances of getting the job, but he's a brick wall. If I actually tried to bring him into the operation, he'd kill me on the spot."

"The other shooters are good enough-they can rise to the occasion." The High-Ranking CIA Lackey was from colder climes, and he took out a handkerchief, dabbing at his forehead. "Dallas could be the best chance we ever get. And if we wait too long, it could all be for nothing. You just _know_ the papers will turn him into some kind of martyr. If people find out about his opinions on certain things-things that haven't been announced yet-they'll turn them into 'Kennedy's final wishes' and try to write them in stone. No, we have to take him out now, before any of that reaches the public."

None of the men spoke about these things that hadn't been announced...but, if you were in the intelligence community, you would have been hearing about them for months.

Even the man on the street knew that Kennedy had strong disagreements with the CIA, and that FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover far from being his best friend. But what the man on the street didn't know was that Kennedy was starting up a new government agency. It would be called S.H.I.E.L.D., and in addition to dealing with all the costumed criminals that were running around, it would also target unusual foreign spies, such as the Chameleon and the Black Widow. In other words, it would be usurping some of the FBI and CIA's most important duties. Many in those organizations feared that they were about to be replaced. Kennedy would no longer be dependent on them; he'd get his manpower from a different source. Even worse, he was picking a legendary war hero to run it, the next best thing to Captain America. And the second-in-command would be a woman, which angered many.

The other unannounced issue involved a new anti-mutant program. Human agents struggled when going up against mutants, so they were going to design mutant-hunting robots. The military already had an unusual engineer/anthropologist who wanted to design them. They were afraid that Americans wouldn't stand for such a gross invasion of civil rights, so they were going to give them a Captain America-related name (Sentinels, just like their elite human agents), and they were also going to paint them in ridiculous, non-threatening colors. A purple that was dark, and a purple that was so light it was practically pink. But Kennedy was soft on mutants. He agreed that they could be a threat, but he wanted to evaluate them on a case-by-case basis. Also, his advisors thought that some of the current heroes were secretly mutants, and that they'd police their own ranks. Kennedy was going to come out against the Sentinel program. In addition to angering the military, that also angered the country's defense contractors, who stood to make a fortune by supplying parts and materials.

Those two issues had driven these men to act. The fear of being replaced by a new government agency, and the fear that Kennedy wouldn't sign off on the Sentinel program. They'd put the plan together in utmost secrecy. Even when it happened, they suspected that the country would make up some other conspiracy to explain it: they'd blame Russia, or Cuba, or organized crime.

The High-Ranking CIA Lackey was still talking. "Once the shots have been taken, the hardest part will be over. From what I've been told, Dallas' cops aren't Kennedy fans, and capturing the patsy just might turn them into national heroes. I doubt they'll go out of their way to investigate any further. Hoover will suspect, but this helps him just as much as it helps us. And we'll have cover-story-supporting 'witnesses' planted in the plaza. They'll back up our version of events, and we'll be dealing with investigators who either don't care or benefit from Kennedy's death. Now, whenever you have a homicide investigation, there will be a certain number of inconsistencies, and this will be the biggest homicide investigation in history. A few strange details may pop up, but law-enforcement shouldn't look twice. They know how these circuses are."

"What about the caped wackos, though?" The Pentagon Bureaucrat's bluster had faded. "Kennedy is extremely pro-hero, and if _they_ start looking into it..."

"We specifically chose the patsy with them in mind. He's a scrawny, pathetic civilian-he doesn't have any special abilities, and he isn't connected to any of their enemies. He'll be arrested quickly, and then die. There won't be anyone for them to fight."

The others seemed reassured, but the Slick Handler was still nervous. He got up and paced around.

"And it'll be the perfect moment to introduce our new Captain America," the Southern Senator said. "The country will be trying to recover from this 'horrible tragedy'-everybody will be nice and teary-eyed-and they'll eat it up. They'll want a fresh start, so we'll give it to 'em."

The Pentagon Bureaucrat picked up a large, flat package, which was covered in brown paper. He unwrapped it, revealing a round metal shield and a uniform with a full facemask. Both the shield and the uniform were matte black.

"Now, this is the prototype suit and shield we've been testing," the Pentagon Bureaucrat said. "We had one of the more trustworthy Sentinel agents use the gear on a few night-jobs. When the time comes, we'll make a final version of the suit with the right colors. Shield's made of carbonadium we stole from the Russians."

"I hate to say it, but, Sentinel-3 is our best choice," the High-Ranking CIA Lackey said. "He may not be one of us, but he's clearly the best candidate. And Kennedy's death will kick him into overdrive."

"I don't like it," the Lone Star Oilman said. "I don't trust him."

"Grow up, buddy," the Pentagon Bureaucrat said. "He may not be on the same page as us, but it'll be easy to find a way to control him. And, in America, the job should go to the most qualified person...as long as it's a white man."

That got a few chuckles.

The Slick Handler was still pacing, and he glanced out the window. "Hey...where are the guards?"

Gunfire tore through the room, hitting all five men. They collapsed on the living room floor. A moment later, Sentinel-3 casually leapt down from the second floor.

Three of the five men were clearly dead. He walked over to the fourth, putting two bullets in his head. That left only the Slick Handler.

"Hello, 'John.' "

"Oh god...oh god..." Sentinel-3's handler was trying to keep his blood in with just one hand, using the other to push himself backwards. But he was just barely inching along.

"The mutant was really making you nervous," Sentinel-3 said. "The space program needed him, and we could have drugged him until we figured out what to do with him, but you wanted him dead ASAP. You were worried about what he might see, right? Everyone knew about his 'visions.' If he wasn't hallucinating, he might have been seeing the past or the future, and you were afraid that he'd find out about Dallas."

"Just-just listen, okay?"

"And in New York, when you sent us to take him out, you didn't send the usual snipers. The best ones. You acted like this was the most important mission possible, but they had something else going on."

"Nobody has to know about this! Look, I'll call off the operation, and you can still have the Cap job! I'll tell them that somebody else did this, and you saved me!"

"When you first told me about this, you said something like, 'the country can't take another big hit.' You acted like you were talking about Doom seizing power in Latveria, but it was actually this. You knew this was coming, and if the mutant went over to the Russians, or told the world what he was, it'd make things even more chaotic."

"You think he's a saint? His father was connected to the Boston mob, one of his mistresses was a Russian agent-"

Sentinel-3 laughed. "I kill people for a living, genius. You think I'm going to be morally outraged by politicians behaving like politicians? Yeah, he has feet of clay...just like all the new heroes. He understands the Dream, which is more than I can say for you. Is that really the best you've got?"

"I've got money, I've...you can do more than just be Captain America...we'll put you in charge of a new version of the Invaders..."

Sentinel-3 aimed at his handler.

"You'll _never_ be Captain America, now," his handler spat. "Even if you find the others, they'll die before they talk. You'll never prove any of this."

"I know," Sentinel-3 said.

"They'll figure out that you did this, but they won't know why, and they'll hunt you for the rest of your life. They'll-"

Sentinel-3 shot him, and then went over to grab the shield and uniform. It was some Space Age material, but it felt tougher the suit that "Halo Knight" had worn, even though it didn't have any padding underneath. That suit had been designed for space work and combat; this one was exclusively for combat.

His CIA career had just ended, but Camelot would keep on going. The heroes would continue to have a friend in the White House, S.H.I.E.L.D. would be formed, and that robot program would have a hard time getting off the ground. But the country had just been robbed of a new Captain America, and it needed one. Sentinel-3 felt empty. Still, he'd met Nick Fury a few times, and he trusted him. Fury would be more than capable of finding someone to wield the shield.

Sentinel-3 would never be part of the Dream, but he could protect it from the outside. It was more than a worthy cause.

He walked out of the lodge, carrying the shield and uniform with him, and vanished into the countryside. Sentinel-3 had come out of the desert in his youth; it was only fitting for him to return to it now. His future started to take shape in his mind. He'd hunt down the other conspirators, and then he'd begin the work of shielding the country from the shadows. Sentinel-3 suspected that he'd be traveling a lot. He was about to become a fugitive, a wanderer...a Nomad...

 **Thanks for reading, everyone. I hope you enjoyed the story.**

 **Yes, the "Avenging Angel" really was a superhero before he joined the X-Men, though it's a little bit of a retcon. A backup story in the original X-Men run reveals the details of this, and how he joined the team. As far as I know, no one's ever done much with this (brief) portion of his career, so I thought I would. And guess who was active right around the same time? A devil and an angel in the same city...one of them blue-collar, one of them blue-blooded...one pretty well-trained, the other an utter rookie? I thought it'd be a natural fit for a forgotten team-up.**

 **Most of this sticks to the original 616 chronology, but there were a few places where I had to cheat. Daredevil's comic actually debuted right after the X-Men's did, but in this, I have him active before the X-Men, so he can team up with a pre-X-Men Angel. I also altered Daredevil's yellow suit a bit. In the old comics, he was depicted with generic, blank white eyes, but I thought I'd give him red lenses, instead. His next suit has them (or at least, his eyes are colored red), and it makes him less like Batman. Also, I love the look of the Reverse-Flash on the CW's Flash series, and he also has red eyes with a yellow body.**

 **I've always been fascinated by the idea of forgotten heroes, such as Sentry and Triumph...but, for whatever reason, they tend not to catch on. Maybe fans resent having "important" characters shoehorned into history? I personally think that characters like that have a lot of potential. I wanted Paul to be obsessed with light and darkness, and I felt that the Sentry and the Void's existence would be a good spark for that. I also performed some timeline-cheating with the Sentry. Originally, before his disappearance, he met the Avengers (at the time of this story, they hadn't been formed yet), and he also met the X-Men (ditto), teaching Angel a lesson about heroism. (The villain in that Sentry/X-Men story? The General!) In this, I have the Sentry hide his existence a little ahead of schedule. Also, I don't think that Dr. Strange had debuted yet, but I have him help the Sentry hide.**

 **Did the original Angel have a magic cape? Yes. Yes, he did. I wanted to include more of him in the final issue, but I simply ran out of room.**

 **Going against expectations is always fun. You'd think that the young man in the space program would be the optimistic one, and the hitman would be more cynical...but here, it's the opposite.**

 **Again, thanks for reading.**


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